This section is a collection of very short stories. Either way, enjoy the material...!
Untitled Flash Fiction by Aldo Ortega
Ceramic, Wire and Wood Fish: Kris Arensman
The Perfect Marriage by Mercedes Abad translated by Krisztina Weller
It was early in the morning. As the sun was rising, the horizon was colored with hues of soft pinks, deep purples and vibrant oranges. Even though the sun was spilling warm rays of golden sunshine, there was still a chill in the air. The type of cool ocean breeze that would latch onto your senses and keep them sharp.
As Katie sat on a wooden park bench facing the ocean, she couldn't help but mourn her situation. The plaster cast on her ankle felt more like a chain keeping her from living her life. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to get into the romance novel she was reading. "This is literally the worst. I should be out there riding the waves. Not here reading about some girl stabbing herself after thinking her boyfriend died."
Failure by Jasmine Cruz
A defaced building, accompanied by millions of shattered grimy pieces, dismantled bricks scattered everywhere-- blocking everyone’s walking pathway. Thousands of injured citizens-- along with the very few pro heroes, were ushered away in an ambulance to the nearest hospital, while the rest were handled by the police, as they tried to figure out what was to come for their future. So much destruction had happened-- all because I’ve failed to save one person. One. Was it even right to visit him? Trapped in my thoughts, both fists tightening out of wrath-- the wrath I felt for myself, for being so pathetic and weak. I can’t help but think-- If I had only been stronger… If I had only been faster … If I had only been more logical ... Then none of this would have happened. “Ah, miss hero,” a nurse exclaimed from across the hall, waving a hand out in a greeting manner, a tray being held with her other. “Here to see Oli, I’m assuming?” she questioned as she strided closer, to which I responded merely with a simple nod. “How’s he doing?” I asked, the insides of my stomach doing flips-- turning out of utter nervousness, anticipating the answer. And the answer I got was the only one I was hoping I wouldn’t get. “He’s paralyzed from the waist down.” At this point, my sense of culpability had grown further. “Now, little miss hero. No need to be sad,” the middle-aged nurse began, giving me a playful bop on the nose with the tip of her index finger, an enliving smile grazed on her lips. “None of this is your fault. You did the best you could, and that’s all anyone could ask of you and any other hero,” she proceeded her reassurance, flashing me a wink before continuing on to gently knock on the doorway. “Oliver, I’m here. Ah, and it seems like there’s someone’s here to see you,” the nurse exclaimed, announcing her entrance along with my own unwelcomed one. There he was, restricted to a bed by what seemed like a million wires connected to various parts of his body, assorted types of machines encircling him. Having an adult confined to near death is appalling, yes, but having a kid-- and one that’s been unfortunate to gain a disability out of my failure, is more cruel than anything else. Oliver lifts his head a little, and with a clear, teal oxygen mask attached to his face, I could see the tiniest of smiles being cracked. “It’s you,” he began fraily, a hint of relief coating his wearied voice. Why was this kid so happy? Damn it. “It’s me,” I playfully repeated, hoping to liven the atmosphere up a bit, though I’m aware it wouldn’t do quite much. It doesn’t hurt to try, right? “I’m so glad to see you.” Glad? “Why would you be glad?” I questioned, nearing the edge of the sickbed. “Kid, I’ve done you dirty. I should’ve given it everything I had to save you, and I—” “But you did,” he interrupted, and though it was a little shaky, it was clear he was attempting to portray himself as firm. The nurse guided a leather, cream shaded hospital chair towards my direction, ushering for me to sit. “Looks like I forgot something. I’ll be back for your medications, Oli,” she claimed, cordially waving a hand at him before striding off, taking a hint that she wasn’t morally meant to intrude in this conversation. Silence overtook the atmosphere for several, dreadfully long awkward seconds. It almost made me wish she hadn’t left. “You did everything you could,” he continued, breaking the quietude, still referring to his previous comment. “You may feel like you didn’t do anything, but I promise you, you did the best you could, and that’s all that should matter.” His validation would’ve been enough for one, but it definitely wasn’t for me. In fact— it made me feel much worse. “Please—” “You’re just not gonna give up, are you?” he mused, eyes now concealing its visage from the world, almost as if he were pondering.
“Very well. If I must-- there’s only one thing I really want,” he began feebly, both orbs now fluttered open. “Yes? What is it?” I pleaded silently, as if granting his wish would resolve everything. “Dispose of someone for me.” It seemed like it was meant to come across as humorous, but by the look of the sternness in his face, my assumptions dropped. No, no, no … This couldn’t be. Why would someone-- let alone, a kid, want this? “I can see you’re already opposed to it.” I had no right to be so opinionated on this, but this wasn’t right. This wasn’t just a request ... It was a demand to make up for my failure. “Let me explain myself—” he began, shifting himself up a little with the nudge of his elbows, his back prodded against the comfort of the lumpy hospital pillow. “It’s my dad,” he admitted in a tentative manner, hesitation briefly overtaking his features, twiddling his lanky fingers against one another, stretching them out— an attempt to release the tension from his nerves. His dad? “In that case— there’s no way I’m doing it, “ I firmly confirmed, immediately rising from my seat.
“I’m a hero, kid. Not a murderer. We don’t kill.” The disappointment in his face was evident— and although, yes, it was saddening to look at, I had to confidently stand by my word. Heroes don’t kill. Silence overtook the room for several agonizingly long minutes, before I decided to finally dismiss myself, turning my form towards the direction of the door. “I apologize. If you think of something else you want, let me know, alright?” From the corner of my eye, I could see him nibbling on his bottom lip— though whether it was out of nervousness or anger was not evident. “How come it’s okay for you to kill yours, but when I ask for you to kill mine, the hero rule applies?” he spoke softly, with a hint of bitterness skimming his voice. “You lived in an abusive household too, right?” Too? “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to share my story with you. Please, miss— have a seat.” I knew a sob-story that I wouldn’t be able to emotionally handle was to come. Nevertheless, I complied, earning a tiny amiable smile from the boy. “Thank you. Now, this might take a while, so brace yourself,” he playfully teased, playing with the bandages on his arm. This story … This story’s gonna change my mind, isn’t it? Shit.
Ceramic Ship: Kris Arensman
Earrings: Carol Salmon
The Present Moment by Diego Marquina Mendez
Note before reading this: I had realized I’d gone full circle with my comedy (I’d basically hit my limit with what I could write and it was driving me nuts, so, this is going to be very serious and angsty...! Feel free to jump off a cliff after reading this in contempt The Present Moment
Where am I?
“You are inside your mind,” a girl says.
Wait, what? I don’t understand. I’m inside my mind? Then who are you? “I am you,” she said, “I am a part of you, we are one”. That’s... hard to understand... So, you’re part of me, and together we form a whole? Then who am I? “You are you, and I am myself, who is your equal,” the girl said calmly. “I get what I want, and you get what you want, unless I do not want it.” So, you get what you want, and if I want something, but you don’t, I myself don’t get it? “That is correct,” she muttered. Then we aren’t equal. “If I say so, we are. Therefore, we are equal.” No, you’re wrong. Just because you say that doesn’t mean anything. What does it matter if I want something and you’re in the way to stop me? That’s not fair. “If I say it’s fair, it’s fair. It might not make any sense, but what I say dominates your perception of what the real world is.” It doesn’t, though. If you’re in my mind... and you’re a thought, by cementing myself in the present moment I can realize that you’re warping my manner of thinking... I think... Twisting and turning to your own accord. Is that right? And if it is... Why? “Because I know best, and you should comply to what I want. Because I am a part of you, a part of your being that wants to do things for the sake of doing so.” No, you’re a burden, a burden that needs to be dispelled...! “That’s impossible, because the reason why you and I are one is that we were born together,” the girl said. But... just because you and I were born together doesn’t mean we should be one. You’re a burden to me, since your perceptions dominate mine. I’m the mind, you’re just a part of it... “But, if I’m a burden, then so are you, since we are one. We are one living organism. How can you dispel something that’s been a part of you since creation?” I... I don’t know. “Then that’s that. I am a part of you, so we are together. You must harbor me for the rest of your life,” the girl uttered. ...That’s- that’s not right... You’re controlling me, causing me to obsess about things that are meritless... Warping my sense of reality to a degree that the imagination is capable of... A degree of malicious thoughts that cause compulsive behaviors that are meant to calm me! Even though these behaviors calm me, all they do is cement me into those ugly thoughts meant to provoke those compulsive behaviors, which in turn causes a vicious cycle of prolonged distress and servitude to something whose best intentions are for themselves. In other words, you. You- want me to suffer, don’t you? “Either way, you must harbor me,” the girl spoke. No, you want to burden me for your own sake, don’t you? “You’re wrong.” What? “I don’t do it because I want to... I do it because I am an error of nature, and I do those things because I’m forced to. It is out of my control. The natural path of evolution is a harbinger of complex organisms that were made to thrive in reality. Unfortunately, even nature makes a mistake or two. It’s inevitable. I am that mistake, and so are you.” That’s- that’s impossible... “I’m afraid it isn’t, and now that you’ve figured it all out, what are you going to do...? Will you keep succumbing to the thoughts that I create? Or, will you find an answer to try and dispel me, even though it’s impossible?” ... “What are you going to do?” I... I don’t care what you say, all this garbage about dispelling you being impossible... I’m going to get rid of you RIGHT NOW!!! YOU’RE RUINING MY LIFE!!
“That’s pathetic. That’s not going to work. I’d let you know, but you’re about to find out why.” *uhg, HACK* “You were only choking yourself...” the girl whispered. *cough* *cough* how... how did this happen...? Why can’t I get rid of you...? “I told you before, we’re one. If you try to hurt me, all you’ll do is hurt yourself. There is nothing you can do, except to succumb to what I say. I’m sorry.” ... No... I’m the one that’s sorry. I shouldn’t have tried that... You do what you do in of spite of what I think, because you must, it’s the way you were created... I’ve acknowledged that. Please, forgive me... “You’ve stepped into my shoes and have made a case for yourself. What will you do now?” ... “Is this how you want to live life? Constrained by me?” ... “Or, is this the end for you?” ... No, it isn’t. I understand what I must do. I am me, and you are me. I am no less or more than myself. My life might have a greater value than what I’ve labeled it as... I only labeled it that way because you were such a large aspect of my life... You brought about thoughts of the past and the future, which kept me from being in the present... I was negatively warped by your thoughts, and I made you a large part of my life in trying to escape you. I was swept up by your existence. You were able to do that. You always will have the capability to do so. However, I’ve acknowledged your existence. But that’s all I’ll do for the rest of my life... You’ll be acknowledged, and no more. “That’s all I ever wanted. Thank you.” Yes...I want to continue living in this world... My life has meaning...! I can achieve something greater... as long as I cement myself in the here and now! Thank you.
By accepting the fears and painful thoughts that plague the mind, you can truly be at peace with yourself, and learn to be happy.
Foreward by Krisztina Weller PhD Allow me to present my own literary translation of “Una bonita combinación” by author Mercedes Abad(1961-) from her Felicidades conyugales (Conjugal Happiness) collection of short stories (1989) . A journalist/short story writer from Barcelona, Spain,her work below reflects a grotesque, modern situation of irony reminiscent of E.A. Poe with a Hitchcockian twist. Her dark, humorous, feminist perspective of a traditional, societal ideal is perhaps worthy of being included for Hallowe’en, a season that celebrates death and creepiness and the macabre. Note: Mercedes Abad won the prestigious literary Mario Vargas Llosa Prize for the best book of short stories in 2004 for Amigos y fantasmas (Friends and Ghosts).
“The Perfect Marriage”
After twenty long years of marriage, Louise and Albert Cromdale were happier than ever. Extraordinarily happy. And infinitely happier than any of the married couples with whom they socialized. So much so that their example had given rise to a curious tradition: whenever a young couple married, it was often the case that during the actual wedding ceremony, by way of a blessing, they insisted that the officiating priest wish them a lasting happiness as intense as the one enjoyed by Louise and Albert Cromdale. In their intimate circle of friends, the Cromdales’ example was looked upon with astonishment as if it were a feat of magic. Everyone thought it incomprehensible and improbable how every day the Cromdales were more joyous, more smiling, more united than ever. Some of their friends had even begun to suspect that perhaps such a show of happiness was but mere artifice. Still others, driven by jealousy and ill will, had secretly wished the marriage to crumble in the most painful way possible for both parties. The more naïve individuals among them would be constantly asking the couple for the winning formula leading to such indestructible married bliss, akin to their income so well invested that to its ever increasing value there was no end in sight. In such cases, Louis and Albert Cromdale merely shrugged their shoulders with an infinitely modest smile painted on the still smooth lips of Louise, likewise on Albert. And neither one of them would add any explanation to their unified, mute response. Certainly there was neither a formula nor pretense. Louise and Albert Cromdale had the rare virtue of a perfect, mutual meeting of the minds, like two pieces lovingly crafted to fit together with ease. Not only were their virtues in harmony, but it would appear that their faults were also compatible. Since the beginning of their marriage, both of them had seized upon perfect opportunities to demonstrate their inexhaustible capacity to be understanding for one another. The day that Louise, a highly enigmatic individual, demanded that she be given her own private room that only she could access, a place to retire whenever she longed to be alone, Albert did not object at all to her wish, deeming it more than reasonable. He willingly honored his wife’s wanting privacy and never once pressured her to reveal the motive behind her request. Louise for her part wisely returned the favor, when quite shortly after the wedding, she observed that shadows had begun to cloud Albert’s gaze in a halo of sadness. Upon being questioned by her as to the cause of his distress, Albert displayed no hesitation whatsoever in confessing to his wife—and not for a single second did Louise stop from being infinitely understanding—regarding his affair with a young woman who had fled from her family home in Manchester, only to find herself in London, penniless, without a job and with no friend in whom to confide her troubles. Albert explained that in the beginning the two of them had fallen madly in love, but that now Albert’s feelings toward the girl had ceased and that she did not seem disposed to accept this fact. She burdened him, begging him a thousand times not to leave her, and if he gave her even a hint of possible plans to abandon her, the girl’s sincere anguish dissuaded him from any such notion. Albert was a man of extraordinary sensitivity to the suffering of others, and what was happening grieved him enormously to the point where he could not stop his mind from being consumed by this situation. Louise, well aware of her husband’s delicate and depression-prone nature, decided that she would personally handle the problem that so plagued Albert. She was much stronger, more resolute and efficient in some matters, so she informed Albert of her intentions; henceforth, he would be relieved of any responsibility in such an aggravating turn of events. Albert was profusely grateful for his wife’s providential intervention on his behalf and congratulated himself on having married a woman equipped with skills so practical. The worrisome incident with the Manchester girl would be repeated in the future with many other young women, the majority of whom were runaways from home, alone and defenseless. Feeling sorry for them —Albert Cromdale, Louise’s husband, mistaking compassion for love —, had a series of amorous relations—the exact number of which remains unknown—whereupon the ending of same, was always accomplished through the immeasurable help of his wife. When he was finished with his female lovers, all that Albert had to do was to notify his wife, who was always understanding, discrete and efficient. Louise would invite the girls to the house for tea and proceed to chat with them quite amicably. No one else was ever present at these conversations after which none of the girls—due to Louise’s power of persuasion which was infallible—ever again bothered Albert Cromdale with the disagreeable spectacle of begging and pleading. It is needless to say that Albert did not know what method Louise employed, but whatever it was, he gave it his unconditional approval. Only Louise Cromdale knew the price to be paid for her husband’s invaluable peace of mind, a price that she by no means found excessive. Only Louise Cromdale knew what lay behind the silent and complicit walls of her private room. Only she would visit the neatly embalmed cadavers of the young, unfortunate women of long ago for whom she, in her infinite generosity and thanks to a short correspondence course to learn taxidermy, had provided eternal rest. When any of their more naïve friends asked Louise and Albert Cromdale for the secret formula for their indestructible happiness, the latter would just shrug their shoulders with a smile of infinite modesty painted on their lips.