Month: February 2026

Sting

~ Nina D'Arcangela ~ 3 Comments

A brief but brutal spasm of pain shoots through her head followed by the gut wrenching memory of the last seeing. It draws her to her knees. The peace and serenity of the past now forever tainted. A flash through time, her mind reels; his eyes peer back into hers, the chalice is thrown, the fluid within betrays her trust. A warning forgotten, perhaps dismissed, arrogance assures her safety in this hallowed realm. Never has she been so wrong.

As she watches, the assailant approaches his target in the dark abandoned lot. A struggle ensues, but ends in a mere blink; the violence feeds her hunger, holds her in its thrall. She misjudges; allows the corridor to widen, permits him to see her watching. For a brief moment, the portal opens on both sides. She sits stunned as he jabs the narrow pig sticker through the wavering fluid and into her left eye.

Now, when it is a seeing night, she seeks only the most remorseful; souls in need of comfort and caring, not the heart-pounding excitement of an outcome unknown. Now, when it is a seeing night, she sees with only one eye – the other forever clouded and dead to the world. Knowing better, she no longer reaches for the vials containing drops of venom. Having learned her lesson well, the wasps’ sting will forever be with her – but always more so on a seeing night.

∼ Nina D’Arcangela

© Copyright Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.

Silver Enough

~ Miriam H. Harrison ~ 3 Comments

Ana had little, but enough. Her home was small upon the village hillside, but she had dreams enough to fill its cozy corners with worlds upon worlds, with wonderings that spilled out through the shuttered windows and down through the forest paths. Her clothes were plain and humble, yet ample enough to warm her in the cold of winter journeys, or to protect against the heat of summer sun. Her shoes were patched and resoled, but sturdy enough for her wistful wanderings, fleet enough for her tireless chase after wonder. She had little promise in marriage prospects, yet she had faith enough to believe in fairy tales—to believe in hope and courage and happily ever after.

Yet when her mother promised her to the butcher, she had tears enough to flood the village. Ana wept in earnest amid her mother’s empty words of comfort.

“You’ll never go hungry. You’ll want for nothing.”

Ana knew that her mother feared the empty cupboards more than anything, feared a life of nothingness for her daughter. It was true that the butcher’s home was the finest in the village. No carriage gleamed more brightly than his. No table held more food and drink and decadence. Still, when Ana thought of him—his hands bloody, his eyes cruel—her weeping turned to sobs.

Yet her tears were not enough to turn her mother’s heart. The day passed in weeping, and the evening came with heavy resignation. Despite herself, Ana packed her modest trousseau, gathered her meagre dowry. Her coins were few, but enough. When she counted them in the moonlight, they glowed with silver possibility.

The very young and the very old of the village had long whispered of a moonlit caravan, warned of its silver horses that trotted on moonbeams. The worldly and respectable scoffed, but still the whispers and wonders persisted. Ana had never had courage to test the tales. She had never left her cozy home after nightfall. She had never had reason to brave the darkness for a moonbeam or to worry about the lure of the otherworldly, the warnings against beings that traded unknown destinations for silver. But now the warnings returned to her. And in those warnings, hope.

All she owned was packed for a new beginning. Her mother had dreamed of finer things for her: of clothes and carriages and comfort. But Ana knew there was no love in her fear of him, no love in his hunger for her. She was not willing to lose herself to him, not for all the finery in the world. Ana did not fear empty cupboards, empty tables, empty stomachs as her mother did. She feared an empty life: a future without hope and courage and happily ever after.

Ana had so little, but perhaps enough. Hope enough to dry her eyes. Courage enough to find her way into the night. Silver enough to trade for safe passage on a moonbeam, into a happily ever after of her own choosing.

∼ Miriam H. Harrison

© Copyright Miriam H. Harrison. All Rights Reserved.

Once is Enough

~ Richard Meldrum ~ 3 Comments

“Dr. Lansing, enough is enough. I called you here today because I want an update on progress. You are already three months late!”

“I apologize, Mr. Brown. This therapy is so novel, the development took more time than anticipated.”

“And more money than you originally asked for!”

Brown’s voice was shrill, commanding.

“I did warn you the original amount may not be enough. This research is highly illegal, I had to pay extra just to avoid any…complications.”

“I’m not sure you can justify all the extra money you got, but no matter. Only one thing matters now. Are you reporting success or failure?”

“Success. We’re ready.”

“The stem cells, they finally worked?”

“Yes, we had to combine them with a cocktail of drugs, and we finally got the mixture right.”

“So, you can bring me back?”

“In theory, yes.”

“Theory is good enough for me. When will you be ready to perform the procedure?”

Lansing nodded to the bag he carried.

“I have the first batch with me. I anticipated you’d want to proceed immediately.”

Brown’s eyes gleamed.

“You can do it here and now? You need no other equipment?”

“No, the test animals revived after the injection alone. No CPR or defibrillation was required. But before we go ahead, please accept my advice and don’t do it.”

“I didn’t fund your opinion. I funded your research.”

Lansing glanced down at the man in the wheelchair. William Brown. An ordinary name for an extraordinary man. He had been a millionaire by thirty, a billionaire by fifty. Now, at seventy-five he was confined to a wheelchair with crippling arthritis. Lansing felt no sympathy; by all accounts Brown had made his wealth by being an unpleasant, grasping bastard. He was no philanthropist, he kept all his money for himself. Brown read his expression.

“I know you dislike me, Lansing. I don’t care.”

Brown spoke to the other person in the room.

“Push me over to the window, Lucas.”

Lucas, Brown’s personal secretary, did as he was told. Brown stared out at the lush garden beyond.

“I am a rich man, Lansing. Richer than you can possibly imagine. I’ve dined with kings and emperors. I’ve visited nearly every country on earth. I’ve even flown in space. ”

He pushed the chair round to face Lansing.

“In short, Dr. Lansing, I’ve lived a long and fulfilling life. I’ve done everything I‘ve ever wanted to do. The only thing I haven’t done is died. I am not scared of dying, quite the contrary in fact. I want to experience it, but I want to come back so I can savor the sensation. I want to experience what it feels like to die by poisoning, by electrocution; by a dozen different methods. Your treatment, the one I have paid so much for, will bring me back, restored and rejuvenated, so I can die again and again.”

Lansing was unimpressed. He’d heard the same speech a dozen times over the years.

“As I said, Mr. Brown, it should work…in theory.”

“Then let’s proceed.”

Brown looked at his personal secretary.

“I need someone to do the deed. Lucas, I want you to strangle me.”

Lucas didn’t move. Brown frowned angrily.

“Lucas, I order you to kill me. Lansing will bring me back, there’s no need to worry.”

Lucas laid his hands round his employer’s scrawny neck.

“Now Lucas! Do it!”

Lucas squeezed.

Lansing watched with horror and disgust. Lucas’s face was set, showing no emotion. Brown was ecstatic, his visage convulsed with pain and pleasure.

It was over within minutes. Lucas removed his hands and Brown slumped in his chair. Lucas was visibly shaking. His pampered existence hadn’t prepared him for such an experience. He looked up at the doctor.

“Dr. Lansing, give him the injection. Bring him back.”

Lansing smiled, a bitter grimace. He opened his bag, revealing an empty interior.

“I can’t, Lucas. There never was any therapy. I funneled all the money into cancer research. What he wanted was both immoral and impossible. I chose to help people instead. Despite himself, his money went to a good cause.”

Lucas looked stunned.

“Don’t worry Lucas, I didn’t completely cheat him. He wanted to experience death, and now he has. But once is enough, Lucas. Once is enough.”

∼ RJ Meldrum

© Copyright RJ Meldrum. All Rights Reserved.

Black Friday

~ Elaine Pascale ~ 5 Comments

“I heard the people up front say they were going to push; they said they were going to grab all the bags.” A small woman with thinning hair sniffed. “That’s not very Christian.”

“Consumerism’s not Christian,” a man with a trucker hat told her.

A woman pushing a baby stroller to the end of the line overheard them and added, “Sure it is. Y’all ever hear of Presbyterians?”

The queue wound from the front doors of the store through the parking lot and into the adjacent playground. Workers in purple uniforms patrolled to make sure the gathered people remained in line.

“No overtime for this. Ridiculous,” a worker growled. He readjusted his nametag. Tim, it said.

“Do we get one of those bags?” his coworker asked.

“I haven’t even seen the bags. Where do they keep them?” Tim asked.

His coworker shrugged. “I haven’t seen much of anything. This is as much of a grand opening for us as it is for them.”

Tim and the others in purple uniforms continued patrolling. It was still dark and nearly cold enough to be dangerous.

The line was for a gift bag full of secret items. Those waiting speculated about what treasures they might acquire if they were one of the first one hundred customers to enter the new store.

“It better be more than coupons,” a woman with teased hair and inflated lips said. “I didn’t get here in the middle of the night for coupons.” She stroked the dog she carried in her oversized purse.

“It can’t just be coupons,” a man with a neck tattoo replied. “They can’t promise gift bags and then put some paper in them.” He shook his head. “Gift. That implies an object from the store.”

After some moments of silence, someone asked, “How big are the bags anyway?”

“Huge. I saw some on TikTok.”

“Where on Tik Tok, though? I bet the bougie towns have the swaggy bags. We never have anything nice here.”

“It’s amazing they even opened a branch here.”

A man puffed on a cigarette and looked at the sky. “They haven’t put up the sign yet. No one would even know what this store is.”

“Only if you’re not on Facebook,” the woman with him said. “They’ve been promoting it on Facebook to the neighborhood group. They said they wanted us to get first dibs on the bags.”

A solitary light came on in the parking lot and the doors to the store creaked open.

“One at a time,” a worker ordered and the line advanced slowly.

“I smell something,” the woman with the smoking man said. Naturally, he smelled nothing.

“This used to be the site of the old rendering plant,” he informed her, stomping out his cigarette in preparation for entering the store. “There might be a lingering smell.”

The progression of the line picked up pace. The closer to the entrance, the stronger the smell. It was pungent and sweet and rotten at the same time.

“Wait,” a worker on a walkie talkie ordered. The doors to the store closed with one-third of the line inside.

“Was that it? Was that one hundred people?” someone asked.

“No, can’t be. I’ve been counting. That was nowhere near one hundred.”

The sound of a motor could be heard and people speculated that there must be issues with getting the heater running.

Before long, the doors creaked open again and the line pushed forward.

The smell nearly assaulted those closest to the doors.

The dog in the purse growled.

“I bet it’s only coupons anyway,” his owner said and left the line for her car.

The man behind her shrugged. “Good. More for the rest of us.”

People filed into the store one by one, thanks to the purple-shirted workers on patrol. No one shoved, no one grabbed.

Once inside, they realized the store was empty.

And dark.

The door creaked shut behind them.

Then, the floor opened.

∼ Elaine Pascale

© Copyright Elaine Pascale. All Rights Reserved.