Imagining their reunion had helped her do unspeakable things since the Collapse. The cold night crystallized her tears. Others might mistake the flicker on the mountainside for a twinkling star, but she knew it’s a candle burning in the window–their sign. Don’t worry baby, she thought, Momma’s coming.

By daybreak, she had reached their cabin. Its warmth draped itself around her like a blanket. Wiping her shoes on the mat (force of habit) a small thing flew out of a cupboard and pinned itself to her legs. “Mummy! I missed you!” David emerged; his face already crumpled with emotion.

From Guest Contributor Carla Halpin

Auntie asks my mother and I to move out of her house. She says I make too much noise when I sleepwalk and my rock albums are causing Uncle Herman more brain damage from his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Upstairs, I take down my posters of Geronimo, John Lennon, and James Dean from the finely cracked yellow walls. Exhausted, my mother sits on my bed and breaks down. “It’s all your fault,” she says. As if I had the power. At night tiny policemen march into my ears. I’m not sure it’s a dream. They say come with us.

From Guest Contributor Kyle Hemmings

Kyle’s latest collection of text and art is Amnesiacs of Summer published by Yavanika Press. He loves street photography, French Impressionism, and 60s garage bands that never made it big.

Around nine O’clock at night, mother returned from work. She was exhausted. She had been working all day. She had brought doughnuts with her for her son. She put the bag of doughnuts in the kitchen and went upstairs to see him. The door of his room was cracked open. She opened the door carefully not to wake him up. She saw him sleeping. He was looking like an angel while sleeping. She went inside and stood there near the bedside for a while looking at his son. She leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead and left the room.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

Nancy Botkin loves midnight. She stands on the porch, wind whispering. She watches moon drifting. Luminous, motherly, never leaving. A new day awakens. Possibilities rise.

She hides pieces of dreams, waits for the next night.

From Guest Contributor Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri

Mir-Yashar is a graduate of Colorado State’s MFA program in fiction. The recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, he has also had work nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as 50 Word Story, Molecule Lit Mag, The Write City Magazine, and Agony Opera. He lives in Garden Valley, Idaho.

“Are you going to die soon?”

He was in search of true love. His search wasn’t easy. He searched everywhere but never realised how close his love was to him. He had been looking for love at all the wrong places. His quest for love only got longer. He stayed up all night and dreamt all day. The sun went down. The night deepened and darkness hid everything. He thought what could be more mysterious than night when you have secrets to bury.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

My mother went in the hospital for heart surgery and never came out. What would make someone leave all this? It’s a question I often ask myself when I get up in the morning or when I lay down at night. Take cleaning your sheets seriously; there’s sweat and drool and worse on them. (By the way, meat tenderizer and saliva remove bloodstains.) The old bluesmen had voices caked with blood and as scuffed and battered as their guitar cases. No one will believe you live the blues if you wear a suit – unless, like me, you’ve slept in it.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is on the pavement, thinking about the government.

Becky was halfway across her pottery studio when she heard the deadbolt click. She froze.

She escaped a mugging three months ago, but it cost a prize dish. She broke the pottery piece on his face. Blood gushed everywhere and his screams still haunt her at night. Hours flipping through mug shots at the police station yielded no suspects. That was it. Except she had this eerie feeling she was being followed. A lot. She had been more than careful until now. She didn’t lock the door when she entered the studio. The sound of footsteps came in her direction.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

The most impressive thing Jesus has done recently other than walking on water and dying for everyone’s sins is buying that used turntable at a yard sale. From the moment his fingers graced the platter, he couldn’t stop himself from shredding sweet jams, morning, noon, night.

The evening he stood on that stage holding the Cincinnati DJ Superstar rhinestone-encrusted first place trophy, a tear streamed down his cheek. This one’s for me, Dad. This one’s just for me.

From Guest Contributor Ashley Jae Carranza

The crash jolted them awake, as they careened into the seats in front of them. Later, the doctors would say that the fact they’d been asleep upon impact is what saved them. 27 dead, only two survivors.

For Megan, it was the perfect escape. For Matthew, he’d forever regret not having died that night.

Armed agents conceal themselves in doorways and behind lampposts and newspapers. You just passed by one and didn’t even know you had. Time to electrocute your thinking. They’re paid to spy, and they spy on people like me – an old man walking a dog on a rope – who’ve done nothing wrong. I can’t sleep through the night for worry that they’re building a dossier against me by twisting something I said. Is it becoming a grass armchair? A black wall? A crying mirror? If it is, I’m finished. One day I’ll squeeze into a crowded elevator that’ll disappear between floors.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s latest collections are I’m Not a Robot from Tolsun Books and A Room at the Heartbreak Hotel from Analog Submissions Press.