From "Roll of the Die" by Sean P. Bridges

Riley and Joey sit in the parking lot of Joker's Wild nightclub.  The gambit is accepted.

The windows in the sedan fogged up.  Riley wipes away condensation, axel grease from his jacket smears across the glass.  Joey stares at the keys in the ignition, his hands squeeze the steering wheel.

“I know you’re here with no warning.  And I know how this sounds, I do.  If you need a reason, you’re not doing this for me; you’re not doing this for you.  You’re doing this for Carol.  You’re doing this to keep your wife breathing, and you can fog up a car with her for years to come.  Or you can go home and in a few days you can identify her corpse in the fucking morgue.  Just give me minutes, that’s all I’m askin’, and I’m out of both of your lives, forever.  Now watch my back, and think about her and let’s fucking do this and let’s get it done.”

Joey grabs his revolver, and shoves it inside his coat.  He scratches an itch on the back of his neck, and punches the steering wheel twice.

“Okay.  Are you ready?”

“No.  No, I’m not fucking ready, you asshole.”

Carol dances through his mind.  Her olive green eyes and the crinkled smile she gets when she has something to say.  Her face curled up against his chest, peacefully asleep.  The same face, tear-streaked and haggard behind the visiting room Plexiglas of the Trenton penitentiary.  And cold and dead under a cloth sheet on a metal table in some sterile dungeon.  He jolts away from the mental image; bends down and picks up the cold gun from the floorboard.  He slips it in his jacket.           

“You got fifteen minutes.  For Carol.  But Carol or not, I get a feeling, a bad vibe of any kind; I shut this down.  Understand?”

From "Celebrity Space" by Alain Gomez

Dan looked from face to face helplessly. It seemed they were all in agreement with the singer. He had to do something. Anything. They didn’t care what. He looked around the cabin for the panel that was to be opened in emergencies only. He figured this definitely counted.

The panel opened with a sharp tug. There was a first-aid kit inside which he tossed to the doctor. The only other thing inside the emergency compartment was a phone which he supposed connected to the spaceport.

He picked up the phone, it rang a few times.

“This is spaceport emergency control, identify yourself.”

Dan gave his name and work badge number.

“State your emergency.”

“We’ve been hit by an unknown object. Requesting emergency assista--”

The shuttle was struck again.

Harder this time.

From "Blood of the Dragon" by Samantha Warren

As the egg begins to crack, the plot to free the hatchling is exposed, forcing Lana to leap into action ahead of plan.

She and her mother pushed the cart quickly toward the door. A startled gurgle caused Lana to look back toward the stall. The Gypsy who attacked Nilon lay gasping for air across Mynora's tail. Blood spilled from his mouth and nose. Mynora pinned Nilon against the wall as he slashed violently at her hide. The second Gypsy was preparing a burst of energy that would engulf the entire stall.

"Go!" Mynora screamed.

Lana's father burst through the door and helped Lana and her mother push the cart to the wagon. Lana felt her hair stand on end as the energy bomb was released inside the building. She stopped and turned back as the stench of burnt flesh filled the air.

"Lana, you must go." Her mother was pushing her to the wagon. "You have to."

The girl climbed up next to the egg as tears began streaking her face. The remaining Gypsy shouted a command and the horses took off at full speed. By the time Lana turned back, her parents were barely visible. She waved desperately until she could see them no longer, then collapsed in misery.

From "Replay" by Keira Lea

Tonight’s performance is delayed due to circumstances partially beyond my control. You see, our cast, crew, and audience have vanished, as in they were here when I closed my eyes, and then when I opened them—POOF.

I listen for telltale whispers backstage, hoping that this disappearing act is a practical joke, but I finally have to admit that I’m alone: the ultimate opening night flop.

The clock at the back of the auditorium tells me I’ve been sitting at the edge of this empty stage for half an hour trying to figure out exactly how this happened. I glare at that mocking face, daring it to melt or throw its second hand or do anything to show me this is an illusion. It just plods along, of course, measuring time as it’s supposed to be. I won’t find any answers here. I order myself to step down off the stage and push open the side door of the theater, but my legs refuse to move. I can’t face that reality yet.

What if everyone outside has vanished, too?

From "The Illusion" a story inside "Mental Shrillness" by Todd Russell

Damon tried picturing what happened to his real father. He could only focus on his stepfather's wicked scowl. It was one of many first pieces that had eerily vanished from his memory.

    

"I...I'm having trouble..."

    

"This is how it begins. Soon you will lose all but pertinent pieces of your identity, Damon. Don't fear, we will assist you with the process. You are among us now."

    

Damon fell to one knee and then a sitting position. He stared ahead, falling, falling deeper into the chasm inside his mind while Harry spoke steadily in his ear.

    

"You dreamed of being a magician more than anything, remember?"

    

"I ... yes, more than anything."

    

Harry extended his hand. "Your car keys, wallet and wedding ring, please."

    

Damon's hands trembled and his head throbbed. He produced his wallet, car keys and touched his wedding ring. A sharp pain lanced his temple. He saw the inside of an immaculate church flash before him.

    

Harry knelt and caught Damon's fall, keeping Damon's head from cracking the hard wooden stage.

    

"What is ... happening to me?"

    

"Rest, Damon. Stag is here. He's your friend and guardian now. We'll handle the unimportant details."

From "If You go into the Woods" by David Gaughran

Jiři Beranek was the kind of boy who was always in trouble; in fact, the people of Časlav expected him to be in trouble. That’s what happens to a boy without a father, the old men would say, watching Jiři annoy a dog with a stick, or kick a broken bottle down the street, or climb a neighbor’s tree to steal some cherries. Most eight-year-old boys were forgiven such behavior, but because Jiři’s mother was raising him on her own every action of their small family was weighed, magnified, and judged.

Jiři wasn’t a bad child. He was precocious and mischievous, with a worrying sadistic streak towards animals and broken bottles, but he also had a tender side that only his mother saw. He didn’t have any real friends, not since Miroslav’s father moved his family to Kolín. It was only twenty kilometers away, but, to an eight-year-old, Miroslav might as well have moved to the Moon. So Jiři spent most of his time outside of school on his own, chasing crickets, throwing stones at owls, burning ants with a magnifying glass, and wondering why his mother cried herself to sleep every night.

From "Most Likely" by Craig Hansen

Then she felt Tom move his hand from around her waist and come to rest on her stomach. She tensed. She was pretty sure Tom felt her tense up, but he kept kissing her. When his hand started seeking the hem of her blouse, Becky pushed him back gently.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I'm not … we need to stop."

Tom sighed and touched his forehead to hers. After a moment, he moved his hand off her stomach.

"Why?" he asked. "Things were going … this was nice."

"It is," she agreed. "But we can't ... I don't want to go further. I mean, I want to. Part of me does. But ... not here. Not now. I'm not ready."

Tom rolled away from her and sighed deeply. Becky did, too.

"Because of God?" he asked.

"That, too," Becky said. "It's not the only reason. I'm only … we're kids, Tom."

"Oh, come on," Tom said. "We're probably the only couple not doing it in the entire school."

Those words stung. They reminded Becky of Shari Jackson's hateful words. Tom told me he was getting tired of you and your God thing. Was it true?

"I doubt that," Becky said.

It's alive. IT'S ALIIIVE!!!

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