Marie Lecrivain -- “Word Thief”
The Word Thief collected his last word, and then left. The
crowd thinned out, and disappointed murmurs echoed in the
virtuoso's ears. They left her alone on the landing where she
stuttered and stammered, not yet realizing she'd been robbed.
Stanley J. Corwin -- “The Perfessor”
We played fewer games of checkers the ensuing days. At first
Rustin would let Benny take his seat while he pondered each of
the Perfessor's recitations. Then, as the days passed, he would
not play at all. He sat a bench or two away from the Perfessor,
the woolen shirt pressed tightly about his chest. He listened,
with the multitude of pigeons, to the Perfessor.
Emily Rapp -- “Francesca Woodman Prepares”
Ever since she received word about the show, she has left
her photographs alone for weeks and months, kneeling before the
stacked rolls of unexposed film each morning like some kind of
shrine, wanting so badly to see what she has created, knowing it
will always be nothing, and if it is nothing, if it is crap, it
will be the thing most loved. This is the maddening part. She
keeps the photos in the dark to torture them, as a way of
controlling their secrets. The energy of a thing wound up in a
silent canister, unknown to her, frightens and motivates her,
keeps her oddly grounded.
Susan E. Briggs -- “Going Under”
Bennie sat in her living room and watched the street in
front of her house. The thick snow made the pavement
unrecognizable. The maple stood naked in the yard. Not a day for
her son to be outside. He had insisted, of course, and she gave
in when she'd seen Luke's pack of friends standing awkwardly,
like young wolves, on the front stoop of the house, looking
around like they didn't care if he came with them or not. She
knew they cared. She let him go.
Tanya Salvini -- “Episodes”
These were the times when the episodes came upon her. At its
worst now, five months later, it might culminate perhaps in her
driving on a freeway and then realizing she was much farther
than she planned to be. But usually, it involved her leaving
behind a situation, a room, her present moment. It was not the
same as running away, she told herself, although it may appear
as such. Rather, it was being alone, attempting the freedom to
be with no mission or responsibilities, nowhere to go, other
than within.
Jessica Mehr -- “Astronomy For the Lost”
You can cut off my legs if you want to if it will get me out
of here. I cannot breathe and the car is getting smaller
crushing in on me and I used to have more teeth I think those
legs will not stop twitching. They are hard to escape, these
steel trappings — dark cages with lonely curves and hot serrated
edges. Cut off my legs please.
Rebecca Epstein -- “Where We Go” (Contest Winner)
When we are much older we will be able to trace everything
back to one moment when the decision was actually ours, when we
did or said something knowing fully well there were
consequences. We can blame our parents or the emergency room
nurse or the police all we want but we will always know that
really, we made the choice to come here.
Phillip Sterling -- “Nearly A Passerby”
Donnie's idea--as he described it to us between frames one
Tuesday night--was that each girl became the victim of the next
one. Dionysian probably played one girl off another, he’d said,
through brainwashing or sexual manipulation or fear. And the
descriptions of photographs recovered from the Pontiac, the ones
that Newsweek reported were too horrific to reproduce, seemed to
confirm Donnie's theory.
Kathleen Piché -- “My Beating Heart”
Steps approach the door from the opposite side, and I take a
breath. My hand covers my chest; holding the heart that once
belonged to this woman’s daughter. A year since the transplant,
and I still can’t quite accept it as mine. But there it is;
inside me, pumping away, sustaining life.
Marika Lindholm -- “Winter at Eldgarn”
Since I can’t answer, people always make decisions, and then
ask me out of courtesy. Until recently, I could motion yes or no
with my eyes, but even that form of communication has been lost.
The signal misfires. I am a permanent observer. The beauty of
the shimmering lake hurts my eyes.
Susan Balée -- “Henry and Zim”
Henry had talked to Mary Jean that night at her grave.
Before dawn, a thin sliver of a moon had appeared in the deep
blue sky. The yew had rustled above them and Zim’s ears perked
up. At first Henry thought he had dreamed her living presence,
but as the days went by, he was less sure
Tony DeAnnuntis -- “On the Matter of Death”
I said, "Here's the deal. Whether you know it or not you are
not supposed to be here. This is where I live. And since you pay
no rent and are not on the lease, it's up to me to decide if you
will remain my guest or not. And since I owe it to you to be
honest, I need to confess to you right now that my inclination
is to crush your skull under my heel. But I really want to be a
nice guy. I never succeed at that, but I still try. I figure if
I just give you the lay of the land, you'll take the hint. So
here I am, man to mouse, telling you that you need to take my
suggestion seriously, otherwise only really bad things will
happen. To you!"
Paul Major -- “Of Wolf: Prologue”
Another flash of blue light inundates Jonn’s peripheral
vision, and he twirls to his left in a quick jerk, the knife
blade extended before him. Nothing, once more, though now a bead
of inspired perspiration creased his brow. He had made out two
distinct sources of the blue light, each small, each spaced as
though they were eyes. Perhaps a zoo animal of some sort, or a
wild dog, had escaped.
Peter Balaskas
Managing Editor
Ex Machina Press, LLC.
Volume 3
Whispers
Volume 1
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