On Our Side, Submission 12 by Lee Martin

.

         A man with red skin sat at the end of an iron table covered in claw marks. His muscular arms slowly lifted his sword from its sheath an placed in on the table with a crisp metallic clatter; his hands ached and his cheeks burned. Guttural grunts pushed out of his nostrils like a bull’s. Another man glided into the dark chamber, crowned in gold with a flowing pure white robe.

         “Good evening Purrós,” said the man in white bluntly as he sat at the other end of the dark table. “Still dining on blood, I see.” The red man’s eyes warmed with red light as soft bloody tears welled. “What? What has happened?” asked the man in white urgently.

         “He’s dead.”

         “Who?” asked the man in white gently, his strong voice the room.

         “Thánatos. I just heard.”

         The man in white sat with his alabaster face hardened on Purrós.

         Sharp footfalls on rough hewn stone pieced the air. The two men listened as the steps approached. The ancient door groaned as it was open.

         “Mélas, come. Come hear the news,” said the man in white. “Our great brother is dead.”

         Mélas sat in the middle of the long table, his dark leathery skin and black armor blending into the tabletop.

         “Please, eat!” said the man in white, with a smooth wave of his arm across the table, indicating the evening’s feast.

         “Thank you Leukós, I think I’ll pass…not hungry,” said Mélas. Leukós let out a deep explosive laugh.

         Small brown servants brought out a screaming man chained to a platter.

         “Do you mind?” asked Leukós, eyebrows raised at Purrós. Red hands reluctantly grasped the hilt of the sword and slid it slowly into the belly of the screaming man. Leukós’ eyes closed in delight of the fading screams of agony. The man made one final jerk as the sword was removed, leaking rivers of rusty blood along the table.

         “You were saying?” prompted Mélas, softly drumming his dark boney fingers on the table.

         “Yes. Our brother Purrós just informed me of the recent passing of Thánatos.” Leukós paused to slide a white finger across a small stream of blood on the table. He brought the finger to his mouth and licked it clean. “What our brother Purrós fails to realize is that the death of Thánatos comes as no surprise to me. Oh, for ‘God’s sake,’ Purrós, eat something! You know Mélas won’t! Yes, dead. But as you both should know, dying is of little concern to us. Why, just this morning I was thinking about trying it myself before we begin! Instead, however, I thought I’d let Thánatos have the honors.”

         The room was briefly filled with soft chewing sounds from Leukós’ end of the table.

         “Thánatos had been sick for a while. I think it was Apathy. At first I thought to rid our brother of such malaise, but it gave his skin such a fine grayish-green hue!” Leukós smiled wide, his ivory teeth bared like hungry fangs. “And to think the kind of pestilence he spread in his final days! Ugh, I am almost jealous. I really think his passing could be an asset to this institution. You see, Purrós, simply goading men into plunging swords in each other’s bellies is but one instrument at our disposal, and you execute it marveolously. And just look at Mélas and all he has accomplished!” Leukós paused, his nose raised in the air. “Do you smell that? Ahhh…rotting flesh…disease…he smells of death itself!”

         A ghastly figure limped into the room, filling the air with a putrid stench that filled the brothers with a renewed vigor.

         “May I present your ‘dead’ brother, his powers of influence greatly magnified by his recent passing!” cried Leukós is triumph. The greenish walking corpse took a seat across from Mélas. Purrós smiled happily at the sight. The small brown servants clutched their throats as airborne sickness exuded by Thánatos overtook them. Their brown skin already began turning black with decay.

         “Brothers! We are reunited once more. Rejoice in our company, for tomorrow our conquest will begin anew. I feel we will each die before we are done, but Death is on our side!”

.

Party Over Here, Submission 12 by Charlie Arnold

.

From: Sean

To: Steve, Scott, William

Dudes night this Friday. I’m talking cards, beer, shots… bars?


From: Scott

To: Sean, Steve, William

Fuck girls tonight. I just want to dance.


From: Sean

To: Scott, Steve, William

Does that mean only cards and alcohol?


From: William

To: Sean, Scott, Steve

I’m down


From: Scott

To: William, Sean, Steve

I’ve got some things to do but I’ll be there.


From: Sean

To: Scott, William, Steve

Ok. My place at 9.


From: Steve

To: Sean, Scott, William

P A R T Y ‘cause we got to.


From: Sean

To: Steve, Scott, William

Somebody got it.


From: Steve

To: Sean, Scott, William

Scott’s phone must be blowing up now with all the messages.


From: William

To: Steve, Sean, Scott

Scott couldn’t make it because as his plane was flying home over the Sea of Japan it was shot down

.

Profile, Submission 11 by Ryan Wrenn

.

         The dress is flimsy, some faded floral number from probably high school if he remembers correctly. She wears it when she’s alone or just with him. It’s shear in some places from wear. The blue looks white at a distance. There are two buttons on the back that were cannibalized from another, similar dress three years ago. He had to sew it because she forgot how well before they met.

         She trots down to the waves as he struggles to keep up, saying something into the wind that he cannot hear. The sun is low above the water and their shadows seem to reach up the empty beach in back of them. He raises his camera and shoots. Clicks the button to review the last photo taken. Her profile, blocking entirely the sun as it sets, fills the frame. Dark and featureless. He frowns.

.