They called it the monster that never sleeps. Hundreds had been killed before scientists determined it needed light to survive. The problem being, in a city as modern as Tokyo, there was always light.

All of Tokyo was destroyed.

The translators were the most advanced units available. Miranda had insisted on that. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been fully tested yet and were still buggy.

Now the priest was speaking more gibberish. Miranda wanted to cry.

You remember: a blurry red light darting across the sky; the glossy road and its skewed mirror of your forehead; flashes of light into the eyes of a man in a hat, crossing the street. He remembers: two tons of steel collapsing from a rooftop, crushing his best friend flat. All that was left were two blue fingers and the smell of dust. The building remembers: the bones and bricks who made it strong, the lightning and rain licking its sides; burst out windows, a fire devouring from within like a disease. The fire remembers being the thing that burned.

From Guest Contributor, Jeremy S. Griffin

Jeb thought he was safe for the time being; then he heard something:

“Life’s too precious for that.” They leaned forward, and then kissed.

From Guest Contributor, Dycen Alexander

He hadn’t meant to glance up. It was just the sudden noise had involuntarily caused a slight eye motion. It was not a mistake he made often. He was just unlucky that today he found himself staring into her eyes.

The blow to the side of his head came suddenly. “I did not pay good money to the slave dealer only to be eye-raped by a human.”

“There,” she said as she quietly used me. Etching away with her instrument of pain, a black pen. It was supposed to be pressure sensitive but it was I who was forced to feel it. I always knew in my heart that it would stop, eventually… She would either tire of me or I would fall into the deep darkness of sleep. The only question left is which would come first? Could I manage to hold out? Or would some kind soul save me from this hell, distracting her while I drift off? This is my life, I endure, iPad.

From Guest Contributor, Erik Menches

Allen awoke from his morning dream reluctantly because he didn’t want to face the disturbing reality of what it might mean.

Sure, he’d been sleeping with Samantha for months, but that was just sex. It didn’t mean anything. Yet what if he actually had some affection for her. That would be a betrayal of his friendship with Tim.

There lies the gun.

There lies the gun.

It’s hard to believe, but there was a time in the early 21st century when serious art had fallen out of fashion. Everything was pop culture and reality TV and Banksy.

Of course, in order to be considered art now, a piece must include at least one monkey, but like Earnest Hemingway used to say, monkey art is better than no art at all.