Jenny crossed the finish line and exhaled 26.2 miles of dust and used air. Her hamstrings were stiffening already. She thought of Aaron sitting alone in his office chair on the 15th floor and wondered if dead bodies stiffened as quickly as tired legs.
(Teresa Phimister)
She witnesses the life of one person in a day. Not much is known about anonymous man’s life except that he aged and his flesh is pale. Everything is known about his heart, is exposed; as are his lungs; as are his tendons, ligaments and all those spindly nerves. The soul, invisible, floated about and she knows he is still kind, his body preserved by plastic, exposed to the world. All of his emotions laid open, are learned. Are they in his head, the spiraled flesh of sponge or the heart, a bulbous, scary organ that gives life and eventually took anonymous aged man’s life? All of his words, whispered in my ear by the ghost, haunting this museum. A life so fast, so furiously moving about this place in the lives of others. A life that is given to others in death.
(Katelyn Peters)
The drunk clown gleefully pushed Martha onto the trapeze. She was both terrified and exhilarated. Debating whether to aim for the safety net or enjoy her sensible shoes swaying in the breeze. It was her opportunity to be the main attraction with the clown smiling, knowing, it was her moment to shine.
(Jennifer Schmidt)
Cancer, the words burned in his soul. Why? But no matter, it is over for him. It is the hardest part of life he mused, then he smiled. Now I can go see her again and it won’t matter to anyone. He drove for three hours to be at her side. He looked at her longingly hoping she might blush but he knew she couldn’t. Yet his heart was moved, and he felt he had paid his homage to the one who fed his family and on occasion threatened his life. He thanked her, told her of his ailment and said goodbye. And the sea whispered to him, “I’ll miss you too.”
(Paul Ocker)
The crowded buzz of the room, human yet somehow evoking the insectile, filled with the familiar overtone of people. Personality, tone, depth, complexity and simple desire. Are they authors? Or characters in a complex charade, a dance no less significant than that of honeybees? Only the drones know.
(Josh Erdahl)
A fat algae colored frog sat on a little girl’s band-aided knee. “Ribbit” he croaked. “A ribbit, and a ribbit, and a ribbity, rib, rib, rib.” The girl cradled her chin in her left palm. “Well okay,” said the crestfallen girl. She pouted her lips and closed her eyes. A sticky tongue shot out of the frog and tainted the porcelain cheek. “Eek!” the little girl cried. Furiously rubbing the agitated cheek she exclaimed, “That is the last time I listen to a slimy toad!”
(Jessica Gipe)
A very old man sat on a bench in the park forgetting why he was there in the first place. “What a lovely day for a chicken dinner,” he thought. With a squawk! And a splat! It was done. Delighted, he took his prize home leaving in his dust frantic pigeons and hopscotch-children clinging to their horrified mothers’ breasts.
(Jessica Gipe)
“The Loveliest of Days”
And there she was muttering about the wind and the rain, the grass poking through the sidewalk, the bird on her shoulder, the dollar in her pocket, and the squirrel chattering outside her window, when she tripped over a dead worm and the sun came out.
(Jessica Gipe)
Bobby could never seem to get anything right. But let’s not be too hard on Bobby, after all, Bobby is only my pet hamster.
(Dan Dahlke)
I left some cheese out for the packrat, but he packed it away with all the rest.
(Dan Dahlke)
