He struggled—obsessed was the right word really—with finding just the right word to describe his surroundings. The decor might have been chosen by a meth-addicted toddler who also happened to be a fan of early 80’s Madonna. The word kitsch came to mind, but while the neon atmosphere did have a tacky garishness one would associate with lava lamps or chia pets, there was also an aggressiveness to the design that implied a malevolence to the circumstances. He wasn’t here by accident and whoever brought him here wanted him to suffer. The pink flamingos were proof of that.

You talk in your sleep. At first I thought it was adorable. I’d lean my ear closer to your head on my chest and catch things like, “Silly penguin doesn’t even know!” or “Better take that milk back to Saturn tomorrow.” I’d laugh and go back to reading and hold you closer. Then things changed, starting with when you arched your back away from me and hissed like a demon cat from hell. I didn’t hold you closer after that, and it’s gotten weirder since. Now I lay awake on my side of the bed, wondering what you’ll do next.

From Guest Contributor Sarah Reddick

Sarah is a writer who spent ten years learning the hard way in Mississippi and she will always be grateful for that state’s ability to give a body the blues. She is currently enrolled in the MFA program at Lindenwood University in St. Charles, MO. Her work has previously been published in The Local Voice, Salt Zine, Cattywampus Magazine, and the Mid-Rivers Review.

He didn’t want anyone to take this wrong but granny was a bit of a pain! She just sat in that rocker like a dried up old prune. She just sat there not moving or saying anything. But those pension checks kept rolling in, and he kept cashing them. He had power of attorney for her. He hated her place. The air was dry and smelled stale but he went there every week, making sure no one disturbed her. He couldn’t have that of course. If they found out she died three years ago, there’d be holy hell to pay!

From Guest Contributor Derrick Fernie

Liam awoke from a phantasm where puppy-like pigs defecated down his back, their feigned embraces weighing him down so much that he was left behind by his peers as he strove to participate in some great undefined quest.

Hell.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Sunil’s adolescent fantasy of being a bus conductor was now fulfilled. Nubile women pressed against him in strategic spots, he smirked.

When the bus pulled into Ramanattukara bus stand, Sunil was no longer in this world. Literally.

From Guest Contributor Aparna Nandakumar

Aparna lives in Calicut, India, and writes stories and poems. Her work has been published in Atticus Review and previously at 100 Words, and is forthcoming in Cafe Dissensus and Red River Review.

Shawn ran from the confessional like the Devil might grab him by the collar and drag him back down to Hell.

I didn’t know what excommunicated meant but I felt I’d been unjustly served until my Pop said that Father Flannery obeyed only one dictate: cleanliness was next to Godliness. Violations were treated as a mortal sin.

When I woke up this morning, no way in hell did I think I would wake up feeling like a wrecked ship on the shore. I was the girl that was found emotionally dead in the shallow part of the ocean but was never found in the deep part of her mind. I wanted the water to swallow me whole rather than people find me with my sanity slowly disappearing and my virtue stolen. My white dress was pure but now it has a layer of dirt. Who knew that a dress could express exactly how I feel right now.

From Guest Contributor, Kenzie Nicole

“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

Hell is the worst place you can imagine, because if you could imagine something worse than Hell, than Hell would become that.

Edgar’s secret consolation was that Satan hated cheese. Even Satan suffered in Hell.

I was presented with a choice: I could obey or I could go to hell.

So you’ll commiserate when I say that taking orders from Baby Jesus made the prospect of heaven less than inviting.