by

Rhonda Parrish and Beth Cato

you can hear it
the cracking, the slurping
(the screams cut short)
you know what it means
but you mustn’t look back

you can feel it
a whisper of fabric
light as thought
whooshing behind you
but you mustn’t look back

the fragrance follows you
cloying floral notes mixed with
the stench of iron
memories almost make you smile
but you mustn’t look back

you recognize the hummed lullaby
unheard for a decade
you don’t know how Mom
returned, how she found you
but you mustn’t look back

Would you like another?

John Perilli May 13, 2022

It Is the Voice That Unnerves Me

Dorie’s memory of her deceased husband is being tainted by his Remembrance, a device that simulates his personality.

Warren Benedetto May 6, 2022

Blame

Read all the emails, chat logs, audio transcripts, Jira tickets, and other evidence related to the Kristie Breslin case.

Lora Gray May 4, 2022

On This, Our Last Night at Station Six

Original poetry by Lora Gray.

M Shedric Simpson April 29, 2022

An Endless Sky Above

Alicia ventures from the safety of her subterranean bunker to attend a concert on the surface of a planet devastated by vicious, violent storms.

David Lee Zweifler April 22, 2022

Do You Know Why We Stopped You?

Visit a retail hellscape where the only humans are the customers.

Jess Koch April 20, 2022

Hemlock

Love, addiction, and hunger.

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