By: Liza Jessica Marie What do you do when the answer doesn’t make any sense? When A doesn’t equal B and the answer is Z? Does it makes sense to everybody but, me? When asked a question you expect an…
By Eric Burbridge Maxwell Lowe, a murdering short-tempered muscular MMA champion of Penal Colony Alpha twenty miles off the coast of Chicago was admitted to minimum security for minor surgery. His stretcher stopped at the surgical unit while the scanners…
By: J. Sheeba Tell the story, The storms and the whirls, Keep repeating twirls and twirls. Along life’s rugged roads, Tempest and thunder, But I tread, still I wonder! The river of trails, For darkness gathers, Me never hide not,…
By: E. Martin Pedersen What is Happiness? I see two old people walk Our height and weight What is happiness? Will the radical ideas Of youth at least Provide comic relief If not solace In the third age As our…
By: Tony G. Rocco Oscar had been in the museum most of the day, roaming its marbled floors of paintings, installations and sculptures, when hunger and thirst drove him into Denizens. The bar, long and curved like a piano, immediately…
By: Cynthia Pitman Not too long ago, the backyard had an old orange tree. Too tall and very spindly,it one day split a dry crack down its trunk, sealing its fate. After the tree was felled by hired men and…
By: Srinivas S (for Preethi, who was part of the best of them) It seems almost clichéd these days to say that journeys are more important than destinations. In my case, though, journeys have always mattered so much more than…
By K.S. Subramanian Around 12 a.m on Dec 31 the new dawn breaks though in the dark womb of the night. Its birth is heralded by the burst of fire crackers if you are fortunate enough not to be pulled…
By: Ron Ridenour Human is inhumane Greed is human Humanism is inhumane Exploitation is human Oppression is human Repression is human Torture is human Murder is human War is humane Love of humanity is inhuman There are no more cracks…
By: Kim Farleigh “Hello,” Abed sang out. “Welcome to Hebron.” “Thanks,” the tourist replied. Palestinian dresses hung from coat hangers above a trestle before Abed’s business, red thread, in black velvet, like veins of blood. “Want to see my flat…
