Becky Carlson

Tom Cohlmia

Nathan Bilancio

Rubani Shaw

Ben Syverson

Ross Weijer

Bo Peng

Fra Valsecchi

Ellen Strong

Sam Becker

Benjamin Chandler

English

It was a cold day winter day in the beef box, but Sam was never bothered by the cold, if anything it invigorated him. “Today is the day” he thought “I will refactor brayne.website and finally get it compatible with Opera.”

Sam sat down his steaming coffee mug on his luxurious desk (his secret recipe, with beef bouillon powder sprinkled on top), cracked his knuckles, and began working. brayne.website was a beast of a challenge, but he knew he could wrangle it into submission.

He typed... and typed... coding like magic as his brain buzzed with energy and excitement. Before he knew it, it was already 10pm—Rietje stepped in. "Wow Sam, you're really going hog wild. Why don't you take a break? Minnie, Arthur, and Lottie then busted through screaming.

A few weeks earlier, an app was released into the world called Sweardle. Its popularity both excited and frighted Sam.

Sweardle's success prompted Sam to make a hard pivot with Byline—now users had to decode the previous line by guessing words. But the added friction in Bylirdle caused users to complain. Then, inspiration struck.

"Write better..." said Sam. "All our users need to do is write better!" He began to code, with glee.

Sam didn't trust that people would just "write better" by themselves; that's why he programmed "The Elements of Style" into them. And while he was at it, he also coded in some - rather surprising - elements into their personalities too.

For example, while everyone was programmed to have a contagious laugh (some MUCH louder than others) only some were given the ability to have the perfect pun for every occasion. And now they were all given the same goal to write a story together.

So the friends/colleagues of said loud contagious laugher contemplated the perfect 280 characters to send him off into the corporate abyss. In the end, it wasn’t a perfect story. But it was filled with chonky love.

A Ch0nky Goodbye

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Logan Pengelly

Sean King

Emily J

You were out of time. You were chasing that bomb. But you WERE miguided. By who? Your iPhone. How? Right as I was given the mission a iPhone 5 fell from the sky. You said something to Siri and Loopie (an evil timeloop making Siri) pulled up. It got in my ICloud n hacked my iPad X

“Ha what’s that box in your hand, old man? An iPad?! OK grandpa, nice antique!” The sneering kid slapped his friend’s shoulder and they both snickered and sneered while showing off the GigaSlices strapped to their wrists and Quantum Gel smeared under their eyes.

"You two think you're so smart, with your techno-hats and 24 megabyte press-on nails," he spat. "I'll show you what real livin' is about." With that, he tossed his tablet into the river. And his watch. And his beard trimmer & glow in the dark coffee cup. "I'm goin' off the grid."

He continued emptying his commuter bag and they gasped in horror seeing his connected way of life sink into the murky waters. “Why are you doing this?!,” they shouted. “You don’t have anything to prove!” It was too late though. He made his decision.

He yelled, “You have no idea! The electronics are rising up! Get rid of your phones!” The bystanders decided. “Time to call for an ambulance.” As he was dragged away by the EMTs, he shouted, “You’ll regret it!” With him gone, they felt safe. Until their phones all began to buzz.

We looked at each other in disbelief; the caller ID on each of phone read: 911. At that moment, the smartest dropped their phones and fled. The rest of us gazed into our black mirrors until they seared our hands. The dullest took the call and never heard another phone ring again.

I heard a rough voice. “Wake up!” I struggled towards consciousness. No one was there. “Huh?” I tried to speak. The voice came again. “Look in your pocket.” I pulled out my buzzing phone. “Now you see the control I have over you—don’t forget it! It’s time to do things my way.”

Fly to Die for a Fond MEPhone

Fly to Die for a Fond MEPhone: Part II

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Robin Devereaux

Jenelle Dulack

Jason Lewin

Rietje Becker

Kara S

KW Taylor

Sunny Anomaly

Madeline Sammut

Hannah Call

Avery B

Dawn Rasmussen

You think you know me. But I’ve fooled you with my ordinary clothing and passive manner. I want you to think I’m weak, submissive. I want to gain your trust. If you only knew

What’s it like to live over 1,000 years? What’s it like to watch all of your earthly attachments fade? Ask me sometime. It’s not all bad.

Sit down, let me buy you a coffee. I think you should hear what I have to say. Experiencing a millennium away from home was been an interesting experience to say the least, but I’ve decided that today is the day I quit. I don’t want to be eternal anymore.

A lot can change in 1000 years. When I last saw my hometown, people got around in vehicles powered by small explosions, spent 5 days a week working for someone else. I can’t wait to see what’s there now.

History does not always progress in straight lines. Those small explosions pollute the air we breathe when they’re crowded in one place. They thought building bigger roads was a solution but more vehicles came to occupy them and with them more small explosions.

The explosions became a daily event, and soon after, an hourly event. The noise and pollution were jarring, but worse was the smell. Pungent and often described as ‘farty’ they inspired a slew of new inventions: smell-free headwear, fog-free glasses, ventilated filtered helmets.

But the smell was too much to handle, no matter how many inventions they came up with. The daily rutine was running to the abandon store, get some cans of beans, of sausages and canned bread...and run back as fast as possible not to smell the smelly smell.

They tried face masks. They tried wrapping seaweed around their nostrils (ancient trick their grandparents taught them.) They even tried oxygen tanks! Nothing worked! But at least they still had a reliable stockpile of canned bread. This made the smell bearable.

One day, after huffing an immoderate amount of canned bread, they ventured outside. A northerly breeze carried something new—a lack of the stench. They became drawn in the direction of the undocked air, when they heard a voice. “I am Darren, keeper of the northlands.”

They whirled around in panic, lashing out their fists, until they accidentally hit each other and crashed to the ground. "Idiots," the voice said. "That's the south you're facing. I said I'm the keeper of the NORTHlands. Not that you can see me. Once again, I'm Darren. Choose:

you may continue to the south and face either certain death or unspeakable fortune, or you may turn to the north, where you will always be in poverty but never want for happiness. Choose. You have ten minutes.” Darren was silent, then, and the others blinked hard and looked at

him expectantly. It was a hard choice. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but happiness wouldn’t pay the bills. But would the shackles of poverty even matter if he had endless happiness? He took a breath before straightening himself and giving his answer.

“I choose money.” He has to put his family first. He knew he may never truly smile again. But he didn’t care, he knew he couldn’t put himself before the ones he loved. Choosing happiness over money would have done that. Then one day

the money ran out. Stocks dropped, seasons changed, and suddenly everything his hopes rested on toppled, along with his family’s security and happiness. He couldn’t help but feel that perhaps happiness and money were both means to a cruel end. He then decided that

life was meaningless. If happiness meant nothing good, and money couldn't buy a good life, then what else was there to strive for? Survival, despite the odds? Maybe he should join WallStreetBets.

Knowing the history of WSB and their nefarious practices, it was a death sentence to even consider that, but they say everyone has a price and maybe..... I've found mine.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the tight ball of nerves in my stomach, and tried to focus on the potential benefits my family could reap from my unholy alliance. I bid adieu to any hope of my own salvation, and... signed the contract.

Lessons Learned

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Wheaties. Olives. Spaghetti. Garbanzo Beans. AAA batteries. All-purpose flour. Toilet paper. Scissors. Sugar cookies. Advil. Dishtowels. Dark chocolate. Tomato paste. Peanut butter. Saltines. Heavy-duty trash bags. Maraschino cherries. Soy sauce. Shoelaces.

Naming your child can be so difficult, Fred thought. His wife was due in a few weeks and had tasked him with naming their infant. Fred was a grocery store enthusiast. Maraschino McNally, that has a ring to it!

Improbably, Maraschino McNally, grew up to be the coolest kid in her class. She was not only Prom Queen, but Captain of the Badminton Squad, and a founding member of the Robot Wars Chapter. Thus, it was all the more surprising when Maraschino announced to her family the big news.

“I’ve been selected as the first student astronaut for the Mars mission. I leave for training tomorrow.” Her father’s jaw dropped open in shock, and of course, her mother began weeping immediately. Only her brother Milk Dud was happy. “Great! I get your room!” he chortled. But

she herself immediately swirled around and ran up to her room. She couldn't bear thinking about having to answer their barrage of questions that would surely iron her to the floor. She started packing, throwing in the emergency duct tape that would help in her Mars training. Next

she grabbed her socks. Mars was going to be cold and absolutely no one wants cold feet while traversing the galaxy. Once packed and ready, she exited her house and approached the news crews. The questions flooded in, but this was her time. She was ready. She had to be...

Maraschino to Mars

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Gentress Myrrh

It was a quarter to midnight and the fire raged at the old sawmill. The townspeople gathered along the Sequoia River, staring in disbelief at the vivid reflections, feeling the terrible warmth on their faces. The one question on everyone's mind: where was Mayor Beech?

A popular mayor for years, Breechy, as he was commonly called, had appeared distraught after an incident involving a milk carton, feather boa and the local fire department. That night he packed his bags, left Peanut his turtle at the park pond and called his mother for a pick up.

Breechy’s mom pulled up in her customized safety orange Lincoln Town Car. “How’s my little mayor tonight?” She asked as he climbed in to the back seat. “Not great, Mom.” He scowled, sniffed, then asked “have you started smoking again? Gross!”

Breechy hated it when his mom smoked. It made her look trashy, and that wasn’t good for his rep. Not to mention her blazing orangy-red hair- and that make up! Gross. He also hated it when she called him her “little mayor”. Didn’t she realize the power he had? If she didn’t change

out of those gosh darn Juicy Couture sweatpants with the pink rhinestones before they left for the grocery store then he. would. flip. Breechy’s devoted TikTok fans were giving him so much grief and he knew he had to turn things around. That’s when he

threw on a headband, hit record, and let loose a rap. “Pants by Juicy / ratchet as Steve Doocy…” Every line was twice as ~dope~ as the last. The minute the first video dropped, it went viral, Beyoncé called to concede her throne, and IBM made him CEO. That was only the beginning.

Mini Mayor for President

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Nat Steinsultz

Zoe Becker

Zachary DuFrain

I sidled up to the bar. "I'll take a Swollen Headbanger on the Beach." The bartender looked at me funny. It's not a complicated drink: in a highball glass, you mix one shot of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky,

Seven pitted olives, 3 ounces brandy, five ounces cherry Kool-ade, 5 ounces Prosecco. Shake and serve in a chilled beer mug, garnished with half a scotch bonnet pepper. Traditionally, the bartender says “rock on” before you take your first gulp of the drink.

What possessed me to order a cocktail called Garbage Slick? I smiled at the mixologist and took my first sip. It burned. Looking down I realized hadn’t made a dent in the novelty-sized glass with 'down the hatch' written on one side.

So I went to ask the bartender if there was anything funny about it or what I was missing. The tall thin man in black sat at the bar, his back almost to me as he sipped his drinks on a leather chair in the corner.

He glanced my way dismissively. Avoiding eye contact. “What’s the deal here, man?” I asked. The tall thin man turned around. “It’s all a game” he whispered. The tone of his voice was in grave contrast to the laughter in the room. He quickly got up and left the bar.

"A game..." I thought to myself. "Well I'm here to win." I crawled into a standing position atop my stool and addressed the crowd. "Hello all! Who's ready to party!" With that I tossed my cowboy hat into their confused faces and did my best macarena.

Somebody walks up to me. "What about Joe". I said, "Who's Joe". I realized what I had done immediately. "JOE MAMA", I fell over, passing on to the next life, hoping, not to be EPICLY REKT in my next life. I died doing the macarena, of embarrassment.

I passed through a tunnel of brilliant white light only to come out on a beach, still doing the marcarena. I was surrounded by a group of native folk in brilliantly colored clothing and headdresses. Three men beat drums in time to my dancing. The women laid food at my feet. I was

So exited to see everyone doing the dance with me. For the first time in years I felt alive, although I wasn’t sure I was. That tunnel and that white light at the end made me doubt. I think that beach was heaven and I was dancing like crazy with angels...or it was hell..?

How was one supposed to know? And now that I think about it, how did I end up on the beach? It was as if time was no longer linear... The dancing though... it’s so great. Would you care to join me?

Let’s Get Beached

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Ava Lekarczyk

Greg Perez

Our story starts, by a beaver being abducted by aliens. Yes, pretty WEIRD right? The aliens take this beaver to an earth... shaped like a square? The beaver gets dropped off at a castle and stumbles inside. The beaver falls in a machine and is fused with a human. Weird Beaver.

Weird Beaver looked around, observing the peculiar room, and looked down at himself.
The beaver shrieked. What was wrong with him?!
He no longer had fur, but instead these squishy meaty things -- he'd heard they were called hands?
And his tail -- he gasped. Where was his tail?!

Weird Beaver heard a voice. "You're a human now. A real dude." He looked down at his flesh fingers and watched them flex into a hang loose sign. It began to sink in. A real dude... He grasped the door handle and stumbled out into the light.

Weird Beaver, WB for short in his human form, stepped into the daylight that bright glorious day and got to experience all the things that make humans special: hot dogs, seesaws, trampolines and grocery stores. It was there that he discovered what money is, and that he had none.

WB adjusted his slacks so his beaver tail protruded a little bit less. Still quite self conscious about his newly human form, and teeming with nervous energy, WB walked haltingly into town, taking notice of ‘Help Wanted’ signs everywhere he looked.

He pushed through the swinging doors at Abe’s Saloon. All eyes and mustaches slanted toward him. The blackjack games stopped, along with the piano. WB shuffled toward the bar, trying to not draw attention to his puffy backside. 

Abe couldn’t help but stare at his teeth.

They were jagged and yellow - and was that blood on the corner of his mouth? Abe felt a chill run up his spine and his hand went instinctively to the gun belt riding low on his hips. WB saw the move from the corner of his eye which swung lazily toward Abe. He chuckled. “Go ahead

and shoot! It won’t do a thing to help, unless that sidearm is loaded with fluoride bullets. Your problem is plaque, and you can fight it with regular flossing, hombre! Now skedaddle before I decide to

Get all your teeth and keep them as mementos...get out of my office you freak! He was literally thown out the office, his sidearm flying through the air. You will pay for this, no one do this to me or to my teeth

He had worked so hard for those teeth—working his way up to Lead Tooth Fairy in the collection department of Tooth & Tusk LLC. "If those gObLinS didn't want me, then they didn't deserve me! I'll show them." Teary eyed, he stormed home and started to plan his revenge...

Flat Earth Toothers

Kathryn Dunn

Tony the dancer was very famous. He was a star, an inspiration for other dancers in the area. He moved with grace and agility, something years of practice helped achieve. The Ultra Dancing Showdown was about to start, conquering this was his ultimate goal

from the early days of childhood. Tony drank in the theatre he had watched year after year, season after season. Dancers showing feats of impeccable grace and motion, all to win this competition. He was finally here....

"Tony! Who let you and your left feet in here?" hollered

Biff McTubbins. “You think you have it in you to win this competition, Tony?” Biff inquired, his breath rich with alcohol. “You couldn’t dance your way out of a high school prom.” Tony looked at Biff and ripped off his windbreaker, then his track pants. Only rhinestones remained.

No skin, no bones, just rhinestones and rhythm. The Biffster didn’t realize he had challenged the famous disco golem to a dance off. It turned out to be a life changing challenge.

He looked at his image in the mirrored wall closest to him and tipped his hat back at a jaunty angle. Satisfied with how fine he looked he arched an eyebrow and threw the golem a challenging look as the volume of the music rose drawing them both toward the dance floor. Biffster

looked across the room where upon he spied Lauren, the spookiest of the golems. He looked her up and down, she wore a purple sparkly dress, it perfectly fit her many many curves and the rotund arch of her goiter. This is HER he said. The ghoul I will marry.

He popped a few garlic mints and spritzed his Rätn-Eg Eau de Parfum. As he walked over, he suddenly heard shouting and she faded away. "FOR THE LAST TIME WAKE UP OR YOU'LL BE LATE!" His Mom had left him breakfast next to his bed. "Ugh..." Rolling his eyes, "time for school..."

Dancing Ghouls

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Everyone in the trailer lurched forward as the hay ride abruptly ended. The engine went silent just as the headlights shut off. Where were they? It was too dark to tell. Then, barely visible in the moonlight, a huge form covered in vines rose up. "I am the pump king," it howled!

“I demand a tribute! No, I don’t know, ‘demand’ is maybe too strong a word. I… ENCOURAGE a tribute! Or at least a gift, like, a treat.” One passenger stood up, squinting at the silhouette. “Do you like white chocolate?” he asked. “NO!” came the booming reply. “I’m not a monster!”

Another brave soul spoke up. “How about candy corn?” A silence filled the room as the King stood up, drew his sword, and sprinted toward the passenger (who squealed and appeared frozen in place). Then, to the shock of all, the King dropped his weapon, and gently hugged the man.

"Candy Corn!" said the Pump King in a lilting tone. "Corn that tastes like candy! Being a gourd myself, I always seek to support local crops, and corn is certainly no exception!" And with a flourish of foliage, the king signaled subjects to gather all the candy corn in the land!

“What is this?!” “TYRANNY!” “Not my candy corn!” The local citizens shouted as the Pump King’s subjects went foraging through the garden rows. Rosemarie stood her ground. “The king has gone too far! I will not stand for this. Beet it you minions!”

The king was suddenly overcome with a flashback. Mummy and Daddy were taking him on his first trick or treating adventure, when he first learned of the healing power that delicious candy can have on a distressed soul. A tear came to his eye. “Candy for all!” he exclaimed.

Le Pump King

Anthony Rella

It was dark and the growling sound behind her was getting closer. The monster was hungry and she knew it. How to escape, she couldn’t run. Maybe hiding in the dark would work.

She slid silently into a shadow of the alley and crouched there waiting for the monster to pass. Her hand went over her mouth as to silence her breathing, hoping she wouldn’t be heard.

The scaly monster carried its prize, squirming futilely in a potato sack, over its shoulder. Once reaching its lair, it looked over its shoulder one last time for meddling followers and then locked the gate with a ruby-encrusted, blood-red key.

The key had the magical ability to change any gate into one of the opener’s wishes. And so the scaly monster found himself standing in the quaint country yard of an old Victorian house. He hauled his heavy prey-filled bag to the door and was greeted by a smiling face. “Daddy!”

“My son!” A warm hug followed. “How’s the Predator business these days?” He shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know, Dad. It used to be fun flying to Earth, hunting humans for sport. Their skulls sell well. But I grow weary of it. What am I really contributing to the galaxy?”

“Well son... you’ve come from a very successful line of Predators. I’m sure Aunt Sue would be disappointed if you abandoned the cause, but I think you have to follow your heart. Who knows, maybe it’ll help you appreciate the art of the kill.”

Monster Daddy Issues

A gust of autumn wind shook the hull of the decrepit RV sitting immobile before them. Three interlopers had traveled to this particular campsite to see this particular vehicle. They were sure it was empty until the door creaked open and a banana tumbled down to the forest floor.

The banana was followed by a shoe, a half deflated basketball, and a small weird animal. “Pickle! Wait!” Someone screamed. The RV door swung open and revealed a large bespectacled man, completely nude except for a pair of Christmas themed socks. The three guests stopped. “Dad?”

I paused the game, stood up, and laughed. I double checked the game info just to be sure. “Wow!”, I said, “This new Animal Crossing game has taken a strangely adult turn!” I picked up the controller and resumed play, a little nervous to see what would happen next.

That was when the music started, low, with a beefy bass beat. The scene dimmed and a strange hush came over the scene, then a pinpoint spotlight came up and a sleek panther appeared, crouching low. He could hear her growling in the back of her throat and she crawled closer and

closer. Then suddenly, the light went out! "Uhhhh. This wasn't part of rehearsal," he thought. As the subtle pats of her massive paws approached, he oddly wasn't nervous. He felt her fur brush against him and unbeknownst to him, he reach out...

Took her paws and stood there waiting for the music to start...Then the melody was heard. He and her loving cat started dancing the loveliest song ever heard. That was the most beautiful show enjoyed by crowd.

Play/Paws

It was a rainy and stormy night. The wind was howling and the trees in the darkness looked alive. She was alone in the old wood house. The noises were getting stronger as the wind whipped off the windows. She was scared so she hid. Flashlight in hand and a bit of water

Sadie, hiding under her brother’s bed, gripped her flashlight tightly. How long would she need to wait there? She was certain the coast was clear when a huge clap of thunder startled her into banging her head on the bed frame. When she came to, she was somewhere else.

Deep in a forest, her cheek resting on a fragrant bed of moss. It was no longer storming nor nighttime, and around her she could hear the soft buzzing of bees and the occasional song of a bird. Still, her heart was beating in her chest. How had she gotten here and where was she?

Was she in the Amazon, the Congo, the Black Forest of Germany? Or was she in an unnamed forest mulch closer to home? She had no way to know, nothing in her life so far prepared her for this situation.

Her grandmother had given her the ancient compass as a child, but it was lost in the flood. She also had a smartphone in her backpack, but she refused to cave in so easily. She entered this competition out of courage, and she was going to finish it.

She had almost lost hope when she smelled something familiar. Chicken roast with marshmallows, her grandmother’s signature dish! She was still showing her the way! Filled with renewed energy, she followed her nose across two fields, an alligator filled pool and the finish line.

From thunder to grandma

Sub Feels

Brad Koehn

A slow start to the day. Another mark made on a map that had been long forgotten, stored in the tiny chest of my grandma’s cabin up north.

The cabin had been in the family for years. The map even longer. While it felt good to mark things off, my mind drifted. If only I could solve the puzzle! I thought about the clue “breach the bear to clear the obstacles.” What in the world could that mean?

I scanned the room for clues. First the glass jars of sand on the fireplace mantle. Next, the stone gargoyles in each corner. Nothing seemed to answer the riddle. Before hopelessly giving up I walked toward a broken floor tile emblazoned with the likeness of a red grizzly bear.

Something was off about it. Other than it being broken. That bear. Where had I seen it before? Something was missing.

I thought to myself, “Whoa who whoa, wait a second...” I then realized that his pants were gone! His iconic pants! That instant I knew I had to find them. I started searching immediately.

I looked everywhere I could think of, starting with the laundry of course. After searching all the obvious places, I remembered the bags- the ones slated to go to the Goodwill. Checking the garage, I realized with dismay that they were gone, probably up for sale for $1.99! How

will I ever find the treasure map printed across those 5 Old Navy graphic tees again! Maybe I can redraw them from memory. I grabbed a carpenter’s pencil and a roll of

Toilet paper and start drawing. After few days drawing I saw the final result. X marks the spot. The treasure was right under my nose. I started digging for days until I found it. The eye of the tiger was finally in my hands! Now I could die in peace.

Ursine trouser troubles

Marc Esposito

contemplating on the meaning wherein the locus of “the meaned” is felt beyond the relation to only the object - that part - but in context of the gerund whole, the body within which mean-ing takes place.

But what could it mean?! Carole read the inscription again and again, each time failing to make sense of the cryptic passage. She threw the down tome in frustration sending a plume of dust into the air. After a moment, she cleaned the grime from her glasses and got back to work.

As she put her glasses back on, she realized the settled dust had activated a second ink color, previously unseen on the inscription, revealing a secret location and promise of grandeur. She would need to get to Albuquerque and fast.

She heard a thump behind her and she froze. What was that?

She turned around there was nothing there... Then, another thump! She pivoted. Again, nothing. What was happening? Was she losing her mind? The thumps started getting louder, as if something large was approaching. Her Fabergé egg collection started to rattle. "What do I do?"

She had to get her valuables to safety! But where? She scanned the room as the thumps became louder and louder, the beating of her heart nearly competing with them. And then she remembered her childhood hiding place - the loose boards along the back of the closet wall. She

, in an attempt to sprint as hard as she can towards the closet, trips over herself and falls to the ground. All of her roll or fly away from her, most of it lands near the closet door. She gathers as much of she can and attempts to crawl quickly to the loose boards. He enters.

“Ho Ho Ho!” He bellows. “Have you been naughty or have you been nice?!” Her worst nightmare was coming true: she never wished it could be Christmas every day.

Scrambled eggs

The weather was perfect and her bags were packed. She looked around the room. Yes! She thought. Today is the day. Once I make it to the Beach I’ll tell Gerald how I really feel.

She walked onto the beach, 3 steps ahead of Gerald. As usual, he was looking up at the sky, preoccupied with the clouds. She stopped and he softly bumped into her. “Gerald, can you forget meteorology for ten minutes?”, she asked. “I need to talk with you about my feelings.”

Gerald thought to himself as she caught his attention, “Oh no... Should I expect showers? Is she feeling under the weather?” Then he responded, “Yes dear, what is it that you’re feeling?”

“I feel as if I’m floating,” she said. “Is it supposed to be like this?” She stared off into the distance, caught up in the experience, leaving Gerard feeling like he was suddenly alone.

And just as the fog settled to the forest floor she collapsed. Gerard glanced down solemnly toward his feet. “Ok, you can come out now,” he said without a hint of emotion.

He emerged from the surrounding woods with a single, large rustle and a stomp. With a light grunt as he bent down to pick up the woman from the ground, and a “OOF” as he hauls her over his shoulder, he exits the clearing. Gerard watches in silence.

Forage Voyage

Natasha Soto

I’m a 175 year old Tribrid. My name is Nakkita. My mother was a Fairy/Witch and my father was a Vampire. Mother said father was killed by humans when she was pregnant with me. Mother disappeared 50 years ago and I’ve been on the hunt to find her ever since. I believe I’m getting

used to my new powers. I don't know many other Tribirds—we're a rare species, many of us choosing to live alone. I've been able to fly for as long as I can remember but lately I've been able to warm my food with my eyes. With each day my meals get warmer and I feel more powerful.

I miss the others. As new powers emerge, new fears do, too. What if I suddenly lose the ability to fly, mid-air? Could I warm up more than a meal? What if I accidentally “warmed up” Evelyn at brunch? I had to leave. We all have to.

His love for Evelyn was overwhelming at times. But not as overwhelming as his desire to use his supers powers for the good of the world. As he and the others left he put on his special pants. The ones he had kept hidden for years. The ones he had been too shy to wear in public.

The transparent pants that gave him the ability to read minds.

They had zippers that could convert them to shorts—perfect for shifting climates and being prepared. He put them in his suitcase and set off for the journey of a lifetime.

Far from the Tree

Emily Becker

Tabitha silenced her alarm for the 10th time, flopped out of bed, and shuffled to the bathroom. She squinted, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and turned on the faucet. Splashing water on her face she gazed into the mirror. She stopped cold in shock. Her reflection wasn’t there.

Instead she found herself staring at the face of a bison. Strong, proud and very very hairy. So this is my future, she thought. Tabitha thought back on the fortune she was told years ago. She heard a knock on the bathroom door.

Tabitha reached out to touch the majestic creature only to have her hand collide abruptly with the mirror. What was real anymore? She turned around and opened the door behind her with a crazed look in her eyes. “Did you see it?” she asked the shadowy figure. “Yes,” it replied.

She stepped through the dark passage to join her shadowy-figured friend. They joined hands and walked solemnly toward the front door. She’d forgotten her night vision goggles in the car and they’d need them for their next excursion.

But she didn’t need the goggles. Her vision was excellent. She could see the small fairies in the distance, dancing and spinning in the air, giggling in their typical high pitched sounds.

She had found them. After everything she had been told, years of searching, and traveling far and wide. She could finally ask the fairies the ultimate question to life, the universe... everything. She couldn't wait to hear the answer which would surely be illuminating.

What am I?

The air was warm and smelled sweetly of flowers, a rare treat so early in spring. Maggie looked around the yard. Would have been a fine day, except for that whole thing with Greg. She couldn’t get it out of her head.

The most painful part is that Maggie and Greg used to be best of friends. A friendship more fragile than either had realized. The moment Greg accidentally burnt down Maggie’s premium beauty parlor and dog obedience school a terrible series of events had been set in motion.

The city simply wasn’t ready for homeless supermodel labradoodles loose on the streets.

But by god he wouldn’t let that stop him. He turned on the machine and hesitated for a moment. Then he pressed the button.

It was as if he were transported in to a black hole. Everything was silent. And then it happened... sparks flew, flashes of light were ignited, the ground rumbled, but it all suddenly stopped. "Hey," said a voice. He turned around. It was as if he were looking in a mirror.

His twin seemed relieved to find him. “I’m your twin!” he exclaimed. “They cloned you in your sleep as a baby and here I am. I’m you!” The two stared at one another. It seemed impossible and yet it made perfect sense. The signs were there all along. Life had new meaning.

Nathan Bilancio
@nathanbilancio

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Nathan Bilancio@nathanbilancio

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