QB
Staff of QB
This month...
Contributions from...
E. Florian Gludovacz, Grigory Lukin, Steve Calvert, Mar Ovsheid, James Perkin, John Grey, Rikki Santer, DS Maolalai, Ian Stewart, Anthea Jones, Betty Stanton, Mario Senzale, E.J. LeRoy, Erin Jamieson, Ken Kakareka, Catie Jo Chappell, Lenny Morgan , Terri Rose, Mike Murphy, Christy Hartman, Nicholas De Marino, Emmie Christie, Lena Ng, Megan Diedericks, Sophia Jane Hayden, Ben Daggers, T. M. Boone, Jaina Cipriano
Cover art
featuring Seascape (1897) by William Trost Richards (American, 1833-1905)
PDF and EPUB zines of February's stories available exclusively to paid subscribers:
The rapture
JAINA CIPRIANO
In dreams
CLAUDIA WYSOCKY
who
.........are
.........you
.........really
a question
.........of
.........merely
an answer
.........or
.........a
.........game
when I wake
.........I
.........face
.........it
the night
.........shifts
.........into
.........day
the dream
.........fades
.........and
.........I
.........can’t
.........remember
.........what
.........happened
there was
.........a
.........man
.........in
.........a
.........mask
a
.........forest
.........made
.........of
.........spiderwebs
and
.........a
.........woman
.........wit
.........no
.........mouth
she
.........smiled
.........and
.........I
.........was
.........jealous
In dreams
.........we
.........are
.........free
to be
.........anything
.........we
.........want
but waking
.........is
.........a
.........different
.........story
.........altogether
Nightmares
KRISTEN ALLEN
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia ran.
Chased by horses, she nearly got trampled before she woke herself up.
Nightmares, she whispered, looking out at the moon and the stars. If I see them again, I’m not going to run.
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia turned and threw rocks.
Surrounded by horses, she nearly got smothered before she woke herself up.
Nightmares, she whispered, hugging her knees under her silk bedspread. If I see them again, I’m not standing still.
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia laid down strawberries.
Watching for horses, she hid in the pines.
They came, bent their heads, munched softly in the moonlight.
Nightmares, she whispered, peering out as they whinnied and tossed their heads.
Bravely, she stepped forward.
As she moved towards them, the horses began to shimmer, then blossomed into wildflower crowns.
If I see them again, I’ll thank them, she thought as she placed a crown on her head.
Lucia walked out of the mountains.
In the land of the night
mares, kindness reigns, like in all
the rest of the world.
Salt above soil
CJ THE TALL POET
Preposterous commerce within humanity
Filtered indignation like salt above soil
Negate all physical and mental insincerity
In order to place cheers to millions of souls
Hardships indeed unite us
Awakening
NATALIA PLOS
I felt weakness in my body, and then a crazy cold reached the depths of my bones. With a heaviness, the doors of the cryo chamber opened in front of me. Warm air rushed in and blew on my face, helping me regain my senses. I remembered where I was.
Two men in white robes watched my awakening.
“How many years have passed?” I asked them slowly.
“348 years. It is now 2373.”
“You woke me up. So you have found a cure for my illness?”
“We are sorry. Your account has run out of funds to support your body.”
Come hell or high water
ROBIN BLASBERG
“There goes the neighborhood,” grumbled Wesley.
“A gigantic yard sale,” said Mabel.
"They're moving boxes,” said Doc.
“They’re ruining the grass,” muttered Wesley.
“There won’t be anything left when this all washes over," retorted Doc. “Ocean’s rising, you know.”
"It has been mighty wet," agreed Mabel. “I’m sure my boy will be coming soon.”
“Our boy, you mean,” said Wesley.
“He’s a good boy,” added Mabel. “Always thinking of us.”
“There's my family.” said Doc. “Guess I’ll be going now. You both take care.”
“We will,” said Mabel.
“So long, Doc,” said Wesley.
When Doc had faded into the mist, Wesley turned to Mabel and noted somberly, "We're the only souls remaining.”
Hours passed as a silence shrouded the pair only to be broken every now and then when Mabel would wonder out loud, “Where’s our boy?" to which Wesley would seethe in response. Then a gurgling sound pierced the darkness and Mabel exclaimed, "Come hell or high water, he said he'd be here for us!'” A roar followed, stabbing the air, and Wesley snapped back, “Well, Mabel, the high water’s here and he ain’t,” as a torrent crashed through the cemetery gate and raced toward their headstones.
In Memoriam
JIM COURTER
She dips a finger into the ashy gray on her palette, and with a few deft strokes adds the finishing touches to his portrait. Standing back, she examines her work, then, satisfied, hangs it on the fireplace chimney, over the urn on the mantle containing what’s left of his remains.