Lynsie Lucas

LifezVictory

Sean King

Benjamin Chandler

Invisiladd

Ben Syverson

Sam Becker

English

"The train approaching platform 5 is not for human use; please do not attempt to board this train."

"Oh, that's cool." I reply with a smile. "I'm not human, anyway." I wait, counting the seconds in my mind, for the astounded reaction of my guide.

"It's true", I said, "I come from a middle sized planet that orbits the star you call Alpha Centauri." Then I peeled off my human mask to reveal

my true face. Everyone around me erupted into laughter. "Why does my visage cause this?" I asked. "Dude looks like a butt," crowed a passerby. "What is a butt?" I asked. "Um," my friend hesitated, "the part of the body that we sit on." The passerby added, "It also makes dookie!"

My face then distorted and opened up. I launched shit all over the dinner table and those making fun of me. I went up to my room where I cried from my singular eye/rectum. I enter my balcony and jump.

But, as I tumbled through the air, I suddenly realized with perfect clarity that my eye was not a rectum—that was just a metaphor for toxic masculinity. “Of course!” I laughed. Unfortunately, my jump was all too real. I died as I lived: embarrassed about the mess I was leaving.

Do You Even Dookie, Bro?

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Leyre g

People trust me with their secrets—but they shouldn't.

I guess I have one of those trustworthy faces, or I'm good at making comforting small talk. People meet me and they just start telling me everything. It's very profitable.

I know it's not very cool of me to profit off of people's inner feelings, but what else can I do? Talking with people is the only thing I'm good at. And hey, if they didn't want that stuff out there they should have wrote it in a diary or something rather than telling me.

What am I doing? I should stop telling the misfortunes of others to others, in the end that the one who will feel worse is me, but it is impossible not to say it!

I finally decided to call up Georgia and tell her I’m sorry. She of course met me with a disgruntled tone and hung up. Fine, in that case I will never speak again to anyone about anything. If only that would be possible, everyone knows I can’t shut up.

I tried to put it out of my head. A few weeks and some bad behavior later, I felt the need to connect. I texted once, then I’d check regularly to see if there was a response. There wasn’t. Then, 2 days later, I saw it. I waited with my heart in my throat. 

Georgia: …

No trust

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I’m so tired of the rutine, doing the same job, walking on the same streets, eating basically the same. My heart is screaming for a change! An adventure, something!!!

I don’t make enough to need a tax office to file for me (ironically, the owner pays me cash), but if ya’ll need an accountant why the fuck do you need to be reminded by a man in a Statue of Liberty costume holding a big sign? Rhetorical question. Today I quit to find adventure.

There are a million costumes I can wear, and a million signs I can hold. But I really want to be a baker! I can mold flour and water into the staff of life.

I supposed, if the pay was good enough, I could wear a costume while I baked. Holding a sign would be more difficult; I might be able to use it as a cookie sheet but then no one could read it. Letters made of cookie doe, maybe?

That is what I’ll do! I get dressed into my sexy lingerie maid outfit and start mixing all of the ingredients. I then line out the cookie dough so it says, “Subscribe to my only fans”, when it is done baking on the metal sign. I shake my ass as I put it in the oven, when...

a strange man in denim overalls burst into the kitchen. “Been watching you for years,” he said. “They’re not ready,” I mumble, gesturing toward the oven. “There’s raw egg in the dough.” “My name’s Liam and I’m your only fan,” he said caressing my duster. “I’ll take the risk.”

Rising Dough

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Zoe Becker

Jerry glanced down at the photograph in his hand, then back up again at the woman sitting alone at the back of the cafe.

He tucks the photograph away and puts his hand in his suit jacket inside pocket. Jerry sits down next to this woman, hand still tucked away. “You are a vey hard woman to reach”.

All at once a blinding light coursed through the space. Jerry and the woman froze. And then a creature appeared, seemingly from the air itself.

“Hey pooch, get over here”, the creature heads to Jerry’s side and drops a man’s arm. “See, your husband was much easier to get ahold of, unfortunately for him.” He pulls out his silenced gun and shoots the woman in the gut.

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