FOG OF WAR • by Morris Alexander
There is a kind of fog in this city that seems to put everyone on edge. Sometimes too there is a cold hard rain, and not just in the winter months. Between the fog and the rain it can be… Continue Reading
war
BEST SHOT • by Shlomi Harif
Assi pulled the dusty, khaki knapsack between his legs and hunkered behind the low parking garage wall. There was just enough room between two burned out cars for him to kneel and watch the snipers in buildings across the traffic… Continue Reading
WHEN JOHNNY WAS YOUNG • by Jonathan Wanner
When Johnny was ten he stole his father’s screwdrivers and hammered them into trees so he could climb them. He took the powder out of his dad’s bullets for the bombs he made to strap onto chickens. He got his… Continue Reading
THE HUMAN I NEVER WAS • by Jeremy Szal
I gaze down at the new body they’ve slotted me into. It’s a hulking one this time, all slick black and gunmetal gray with a hint of red. The limbs meticulously designed, the metal folded over each other like overlapping… Continue Reading
LOOK AT THE ANTS • by Dennis Zaslona
This is it. I turn my back to them, twist my wrists against the rope and give Churchill’s vee. I am to be their last spiteful act before they flee from the guns of my advancing countrymen. A hand’s width… Continue Reading
FESTIVAL MUSIC IN A CIRCLE OF CARAVANS • by Owen Rapine
Through the hazy watercolor of a child’s memory, those months stand out with clarity even into my ninth decade. They start with the bombs dropping in the village streets. Even a child couldn’t mistake the bone-shaking howl, the blinding flashes… Continue Reading
CUT THE BLUE WIRE • by Patrick Mahon
“Say again, Control. Should I cut the red or the blue wire?” I wait, cutters poised in mid-air above both. Status reports scroll through my eyeline, but I ignore them. Every previous time I’ve dealt with an Improvised Explosive Device… Continue Reading
JUST FIREWORKS • by J. Chris Lawrence
— in memory of Antoinette Bolden — The Master didn’t play with Rocket as much as the dog preferred, but he knew he was loved. He was a good boy, after all. The Master said so. Every day, when The… Continue Reading
SURVIVOR GUILT • by Robert Kibble
I watched from the wall as they began arriving. First in ones and twos, then larger groups of desolate soldiers trudging towards the city. There was no doubting what this meant: the capital had fallen. The walls which had held… Continue Reading
MOVING ONWARDS • by Ian P. Harris
There’s a hole in my boot. I can feel the mud squelching in around my heel. It’s horrible and cold, making me limp a bit. I can feel it seeping through my sock. How much further to the enemy trenches?… Continue Reading