She took a long drag on her cigarette before crushing it out in the ashtray. Then she opened the drawer to her bedside locker and said: Okay, young man, the world’s your oyster. Take your pick.

Apart from the shelves of the drugstore, I’d never seen so many condoms.

If it’s all the same with you, I said, I’ll choose the red one. I like red.
She smiled again and said: Suit yourself, Baby. 

I briefly wondered whether I should ask her to marry me. I didn’t.

Barely five minutes after that, I left with no money and no virginity.

From Guest Contributor Henry Bladon

Steve wasn’t one to believe in miracles. He understood too well the depravities of the human heart. More often than not he was victim to the world’s machinations. That’s how fate had led him to the streets.

So when the woman offered a hot meal, he expected some sort of catch, likely in the form of a lengthy sermon. When she offered a warm bed, he called to mind images of harvested organs and sexual servitude. When she claimed through phony tears to be his mother, he fled at the first opportunity, certain it was another conspiracy plotting against him.

The black clouds rolled in at a frightening pace, so close now that the lightening and thunder arrived simultaneously. His boat pitched up and down with such force, the hull strained at the seams and might break apart at any moment.

His remarkable life deserved something more than such a futile end.

“I was provoked!”

Dixon watched the lonely woman, her contempt written plain. “Judge not lest ye be judged.”

The SciFi Gazette–shining beacon of non-cliché speculative fiction. Submission guidelines had listed discouraged themes; ‘dystopias’ were number one: bad news for a pessimist like myself.

The editor was, of course, not there. On her desk, I deposited my latest story. I had high hopes–my first utopia.

From Guest Contributor Tris Matthews

At first I thought it was a barrel of whiskey strapped to the back of the gangly old man, stooping him over to half in the parking lot. Snow swirled in orange light clouds. As he shuffled closer, I realized it was an egg, yellowish, enormous, bound with dirty ropes. There were scratches on it as long as my arm, and I wondered whether they came from the inside or the outside. I loaded the groceries into the car and pushed my cart at him.

“That’s not how it works,” he muttered, head down. “I have to carry it myself.”

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

“Why do you think you’re an expert on me?” I asked Jim. We were on another construction job together doing some demolition. It felt good sledge hammering the walls.

Jim pulled the pistol cautiously. Fumbling it in his hands he–– POP!!!!

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Alex watched the books seemingly fly off and back onto the shelves, guided by grinding mechanical hands. Time slowed and the scent of burning oil filled the space around him.

Alex concentrated on the scent. That alone, among all the ones and zeros, felt genuine.

Ian sits supping his pint, jotting down some verses in his notebook, his Sylvia Plath’s Collected Poems at his side.

‘Salt of the earth’ he thinks sardonically, thanking God for poets and tortured souls everywhere.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Mouth agape, eyes widened with fear, I looked on to what my world had been. Everything I lived for was swept up in a distant array of mud, debris and…corpses. Even through my grief, I knew the landslide had chosen me, to avenge everyone’s lives that came to an end in this short, devastating moment. This was my calling, which I would live through for the rest of my life, bearing their dreams.

Standing strong, even until this day, I recall this distant memory. With tears beginning to well in my eyes I see hope glimmering from the future.

From Guest Contributor Danielle Simpfendorfer