“I’m so sick of pain, Gene. I wish I couldn’t feel at all.” With a shaky sniffle, Emily stroked the black fur of Gene’s chin, eliciting his tractor purr.

In her mind, Emily screamed.

From Guest Contributor Michelle Cook

The blanket of brown leaves, crisp underfoot before the overnight rains, were now a moist, organic mess. The wind was forcing entire sheaves of debris into clammy piles against curbs and hedges.

Mrs. Roberts waited at the corner for the paramedics. She didn’t like the dog bothering the body, but she was unwilling to get any closer. She instead dragged from her cigarette and stared at her phone.

I pulled up my shirt to show the doctor the painful rash that had appeared like stigmata on my front and back. He looked at it, then shrugged. “What do you think it is?” he asked. I decided at that moment to stop carrying my phone everywhere. Somehow disturbing news still managed to reach me. I was out of step with the times. My days were endless. I walked on the beach, took naps, tried to teach myself the guitar. There was a blue iris sitting in a bottle on my table. It would have made a lovely Hallmark card.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Spooky Action at a Distance from Analog Submission Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Chuck entered the car in a hurry and drove off, tires screeching. His wife, Hallie, was in surgery and he promised to be there when she awakened. He sipped his Starbucks coffee and wondered when the traffic would let up, cursing and punching the steering wheel.

Chuck would be at the hospital, but not for Hallie.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I walk by your bar. Not that I care if you are there, but because it’s on my way home. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I could ask you. Ask if you found someone else, ask if you are just too busy for me, ask if you ever really cared. But asking means you would tell me. Maybe I don’t really want to know. Tomorrow I’ll go a different way home. Tomorrow I won’t walk by your bar. Tomorrow I won’t look at my phone, longing for a message from you. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

From Guest Contributor Tyler Ashton

Kevin enjoyed the contemplation of his morning walks, the perfect ritual for tuning out from his devices. Sure, he’d steal the occasional glance at his phone, but only to ensure he wasn’t missing an important message.

The anger rising inside him at the inconvenience was certain to ruin his day.

She’s walking home when she sees the most beautiful sunset she’s ever seen. Her phone is already in her hand. For some shots she aims low, including both the sunset and the winding tree-lined path that stretches across the park. For others, she aims high, capturing only the yellows, oranges and reds of the evening sky. There is no pleasure in the moment, only later after she arrives at her apartment, after she sits on her bed, after she looks through the photographs, after she decides which she likes best, after she uploads it, after she starts counting the likes.

From Guest Contributor Spencer Chou

Cindy sipped her hot cocoa and let the warmth hit her stomach, as she listened to the serene crackling of the fireplace. She opened her book, and cuddled on the couch with her dog Bree, until the phone rang.

Her planned relaxing day became a hectic day at the office.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Stephanie didn’t know who else to call, so she called the exterminator. She was vague over the phone, preferring him to see the infestation for himself. His condescending tone annoyed her.

Stephanie wasn’t paying attention to his diagnosis. She couldn’t get over the fact he kept pronouncing fungi with a soft gee.

John flipped his wife’s shopping list and reached for the phone in his jacket. No charge.

“I’m allergic to shellfish!” she shrilled. “Where are the scallions
and capers?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.