Scattered pixels form your face, I forgot to delete a few, I still miss you sometimes. I miss you more and hear your voice, recorded, a missed call. If only, who knows when the last time will be the last time prior to, I should have kept my phone in my pocket. You always ask asked me to be more available, I always think thought we’d have another moment. To me you are were forever, forever is never forever. Not even these pixels, replicating your face, fading, scattered, fleeting. Afraid I’ll lose you again, broken charger, my phone is dying.

From Guest Contributor Mekah Baker

Mekah is a student of literature and the applied sciences at Pikes Peak State College.

Ray slipped at the top of his building’s stoop and flew face first at the cement below. Time elongated as a supercut of his entire life played out like a scene on a museum urn.

That was really the only memory that came to mind. Ray was only four years old.

As I held Josh’s hand, looked at his face, eyes shut, tubes in his nose and throat, I teared trying to hold back my emotions from a full-blown cry. It had been several months, and the doctors tried everything, but he remained unresponsive. Every day I prayed for a miracle, but deep within, I knew there wasn’t one. So, I continued to speak and visit him often.

He was gone.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Rick stumbled into the alleyway hoping no one would notice him puking. The retching sounds could be heard one block over. He got back in his police car and drove away.

Just another night in the big American city.

One summer, I went to Circus Camp. As an acrobat, I was overcome by terror, lost my grip on the trapeze, and plunged into the net before my partner could grab my ankles. Animals hated me. The dancing horse tried to bite me, and the performing poodles peed on my shoes. I looked hilarious in clown makeup, but my timing was terrible, and I was trampled while exiting the tiny car. I tried juggling and hit myself in the face with the balls. Fortunately, the camp staff were brilliant photographers; the shots they posted on Instagram made my family proud.

From Guest Contributor R.K. West

I loved the way Chloe licked her lips after an ice-cold drink, and when her long black hair blew in the breeze. When she tilted her face backward, she looked beautiful.

It thundered, then rained.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The rain pelts my umbrella, so I make haste to avoid getting drenched before my housekeeper interview. The last home I cleaned I left because there had been too much friction between the husband and wife. I didn’t want to be in the middle, so I quit. When I came across a post online of a wealthy couple looking for a house cleaner, I applied. It’s in an upscale neighborhood and I have a good feeling.

I walk away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

It was just before the bout between Lefty Louie and Bonecrusher Rocco. Both fighters were in their corners. Louie’s manager, Al, offered his last words of advice…

“No, Louie, hit. Remember, it’s hit. The bigger they are, the harder they hit…”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

I met the man with the train face at a strawberry picking. Where you buy the basket, scatter into the field, pick as many as you like or as will fit. He moved in a straight line, boring ever farther ahead, picking with one hand, then the other, then engineering the basket forward along the ground. When I was beside him, I could feel his breath like steam; his eyes seemed to let out more light than they took in. Full basket, he passed it to his wife. Her face was a station. She handed him a new, empty basket.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

By the time he awoke that Saturday morning, Otto was exhausted. It was another night of running dreams – of being on a treadmill, getting no place fast. And, then, of the treadmill ratcheted up to greater and greater inclines.

“At least wipe that damned smirk off your face.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney