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Cheryl Snell
Thoughts in the Time of Collision
I am all hair, glittering with diamond-glass. A forehead streaked with blood, rubies and roses crisscrossing the tangerine flaps of a ripped collar. Ripped skin. The air is blue and then bluer and then green and then black. Black is absence of color, white the sum. When I come to, a mangled fender dangles halfway through the windshield, inches from my face. When he sees it, my brother bursts into big pearly tears. Why is his arm on wrong? He is all geometry. Triangles and spinning circles. Mouth an oblong of cries. He was never the brave type and I don’t know where to look except into my own reflection, bleeding in the overhead mirror. I lift the visor high and watch the patterns of trickle. They fascinate me more than the fantasy of rescue. It’s in the way the tributaries join together at my chin. The way they drip off it like a cliff. How they spill drop by drop into the valley between my breasts.
Cheryl Snell’s books include several poetry collections and novels. Her most recent writing has or will appear in On the Seawall, Midway, Rogue Agent, Blue Unicorn, 100 Word Story, and the Best Microfiction 2025 anthology.
Kayleigh Cassidy
Before I knew it, I was crying in front of my entire dance class. Thirty women and two men in neon active wear, staring at me as I tried to explain why I was late.
Meg Pokrass and Jeff Friedman (collaboration)
His guest from Scotland dawdled getting to the shower and by the time she arrived, it wasn’t there. Instead, there was a hologram of a shower, one that didn’t leak.
Hattie Logan
. . . There I was alone in the porters lodge, halfway through my morning coffee, black no sugar, when my walkie-talkie crackled into life.
It’s Bruce, the gardener “Mike, are you there? Stella’s just left her hideaway and is heading towards you” . . .
Cheryl Snell
Follow your room-mate and her boyfriend, but not so close that either one notices. Think shadow. Think Pink Panther. Plop down in the middle seat of three in the theater. Pretend you don’t hear your room-mate say “Do you mind?” Back at the apartment tell her you want to switch bedrooms. “I need the room with the door.” Because migraines.
Tom Ball
I, Shelly, said to Amos, “We live in a nightmare amusement park World, here on Moon Miranda!” He replied, “How did we ever come to this?” I said, “In my case, I was lured by the potential thrills of continuous action.” He said, “Me, too. And it’s a new World, so there were no ratings to go by.” I said, “There must be some way we can escape!” He said
Noel King
In the photo-booth Eva gets self conscious, blinking when the flash pops. “It’s not me,” she screams out loud as the photo pops out.
George Vincent
The boy was lost and he went to the beach on his own.
He walked along the beach and he was scared of everything: of himself, of the sand and the sun and sea. He walked with his head down.
Sophie Thompson
There are few sounds sadder than the plinky-plonk of Greensleeves from a passing ice cream van. Mickey Mouse’s face plastered on its arse, rainwater rivulets streaking down his grimy cheeks.
Ervin Brown for Day three of our Invisible and Visible Disabilities feature and for the last day of Autism Acceptance month
I ran to the gym instructor, a tall man. He had a bumpkin’s voice and wore a jersey like he played football. He leaned against the school wall with his buddies. I tugged at his arm and pointed at the boy who wouldn’t leave me alone, but he waved me off. This was not the first time I had been bullied for my autism.
I walked past the playground into a wooded area, trekking along the fence line until I reached the opposite end of the schoolyard. This spot is where the yard spilled into the main road. I took one step off the grass and felt a rainbow of delight explode from my chest. I was no longer on school property.