I would pretend to be sleeping when he flipped on the light in my room. He would loom over me until my eyes opened. The walls would seem to lean in. Fear would distort my breathing. If I tried to scoot away, he would grab me by the arm and drag me back and crack me across the face with the flat of his hand. He was buried on a cold Sunday next to my mother. Some thirty people, mostly family, attended. It began to snow as stood at the graveside. He had finally found a solution to his loneliness.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie co-edits the online journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.

After a lifetime of deception, a sense of purposelessness persisted. Trapped in darkness, Sarah faced tests, time lost all meaning, hunger gnawed, and survival was vital. Guilt spiraled into self-blame. A presence loomed, with fear gripping her. A hidden cave, a reward, reality slipping, and power and control are beckoning. Uncertainty and choices lead to dark paths. Sarah complied, fearing the unknown. Urgency and the cave’s depths awaited. A dangerous allure, dread mounting. Unease, an invisible stalker, the crunch of footsteps. The weight of a gaze, fear, and defiance entwined.

“I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to win!”

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

My eyes opened to darkness, as I fumbled around to find my phone. The bright screen hurt to look at, but pain was overcome by the satisfaction of knowing it was only 3 AM. Quickly, I confirmed the presence of my roommate’s dark figure, fast asleep. I was yet to grow out of my fear of monsters in the dark; knowing she was here helped me sleep. Next time I awoke, she looked worried.

I shrieked.

From Guest Contributor Vaishavi V. Jituri

The bold lion hunts searching for prey. In the distance it spots a striped zebra, and slowly makes its move. The zebra is unaware of the lion’s approach and continues chewing grass. Now the lion hauls its front legs forward and jumps midair landing on top of the zebra. The zebra howls in fear too frightened and not strong enough to fend off the fearless lion. The struggle is short lived as the lion bites the zebra’s neck, killing it instantly. As the deceased animal lays limp the lion devours it, content.

The courageous animal forages the fields once again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The town came to the zoo based on the promise of a special exhibit of animals captured with great difficulty. The audience was truly impressed.

Their trust was ill-advised. The humans broke out of the cage and stomped the crowd into the ground. Three thousand Xanians died painfully.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

The ringing in Timothy’s ears from nearby bombs gives way to headaches and fear. Doctors are scrambling while patients are moaning and yelling for their mothers.

As the blinding brightness approaches the vehicle, and soldiers scream, he tastes Amanda’s strawberry kiss one last time.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Daylight spills over the trees, onto bones in our yard. A wind rattles the forest. We tense with fear. Before, we tended gardens, chopped wood, prepared for the next season. Now, we turn our homestead into a church, with crucifixes everywhere.

Overhead, something rides the wind.

From Guest Contributor Russell Richardson

Russell has written and published many short stories, illustrated a book of poetry, and created children’s books to benefit kids with cancer. His YA novel, Level Up and Die! was published in April of 2021. He lives with his wife and sons in Binghamton, NY, the carousel capital of the world.

She did not say yes.

She never wanted marriage.
She never wanted this.

From Guest Contributor Anne Silva.

Anne is a student writer from Sri Lanka. She publishes her writing on social media as Poetry of Despair.
You can read them at www.instagram.com/PoetryofDespair.

Do it well, honey. My lover’s voice echoed inside me as I stabbed my wife repeatedly. Fear flashed in her doe-like eyes. She fell to the wet forest floor and crawled away. I grabbed her ankle and pulled. On my umpteenth attempt, my knife struck through her neck, severing her jugular vein. Blood splattered. The light faded out of her eyes. I rolled her up in a plastic sheet and buried her. Later, I stumbled into my home, choking on her perfume. There she stood in front of me. “What?” I gasped. She brandished a knife. Sharper than my own.

From Guest Contributor Fusako Ohki

Fusako Ohki is a Japanese writer from Tokyo. She obtained her master’s degree in Japanese literature from Hosei University. Her debut collection of short fiction is forthcoming in 2021.

There are no bruises. No black and blue markings. The damp pillow muffles my sobs. Berating me with silence, his brand of torture is debilitating. I cower in the dark. The smaller I get, the more his power swells.

Until the next time.

From Guest Contributor Violet James