Featured content

The Forgotten Ones

I’ve forgotten their names; both of them. I think I may even have forgotten their faces. One was pale and one was dark, I think. Most times they meld together in my thoughts and become one mottled, wrinkled, smooth, perfectly formed, imperfect, dead, faceless beings. I’ve forgotten their names and their faces but somehow I haven’t forgotten how my belly rounded, like a perfectly smooth watermelon; my skin brown and taut. I haven’t forgotten the movements underneath the taut belly...

Cubicle Chronicles: Dirty Diana and the Dastardly Deed

I can’t believe what happened today! I’m sitting in my cubicle still in shock! **shakily takes a sip of lukewarm fancy schmancy caffeinated beverage**. The Big Boss Man still hasn’t returned and we seem to be stuck with this buffoon Marmalade Mark. Oh and side note, the wall hasn’t gone back up since it came crashing down. Apparently, there was no money left in the budget to repair the damage that was done (**insert Muttley’s signature snigger here**). Wait, but...

Old Men

old men gather in bars only frequented by them. they sit on decrepit stools older than they are. they sit in the dank darkness and watch as the bartender (female, with sagging breasts spilling out of her wrinkled blouse) pour the rum in grimy glasses. none of them take ice – they do not want to water down the potency. instead, they wish to quicken the dulling of their “nows” and sharpening of their “thens” when they were still all...

Dead or Alive?

Dead people and dead things fill my dreams and waking hours too. Faces of resurrected ones; faces I once knew.   I had seen them lain beneath earth and grass but now they walk above on concrete with lively strides leaving traces where they stepped with their decaying and muddied feet.   Their grotesque flesh on arms and belly fall like molten candle wax never reaching the ground at all.   Their words come out warbled as they talk with...