Michael Banks, Home From the War
Marissa K. Lingen

ELLEN, THE OLD HOUSEMAID, had left the tray as quickly as she could and retreated. It was Jane and Barbara’s evening with their do-gooders; Michael had not bothered to find out what or with whom his sisters were doing good, exactly. It didn’t seem to matter any more. His tea cooled while he stared into the fire.

“What’s the medicine going to taste like tonight, Michael?” asked a soft voice behind him.

Michael started. “Couldn’t be. Absolutely bloody couldn’t be.”

“But it is.” Mary Poppins stepped into the circle lit by the fire. “And you, young man, may kindly watch your language.”

“Mary Poppins. Jesus Christ, Mary Poppins, after all these years of—”

“Language, Michael!” snapped Mary Poppins. “You have not the excuse of some young men, who were not brought up by someone practically perfect in every way.”

One Small Step
Ken Scholes

WE REALIZED THINGS HAD GONE too far on the moon when Anderson’s chimps killed him, shaved themselves and democratically elected one of their own to put on his lab-coat and demand a meeting with the rest of us.

Of course, Anderson started this whole goddamn mess and he deserved what he got. Even Gable and Tennyson agreed on that point and those two never agreed on anything.

I met Dr. Roger Anderson after a paper he delivered at the World Economic Development Conference in Thailand. Now everyone knows it as Tomorrow's Labor Force: Inter-species Collaboration for a Better Future. It's the paper that got him the funding to move his lab to the moon and start training his chimps to do their part in the new Economy.

Of course, the Bible people didn't mind. The way they saw it, those were just dumb animals like oxen or horses. Disbelieving evolution has advantages. The animal rights people got pretty uptight until the Helen Dialogue.

I got involved just after that. But I remember watching it on TV.

Life Sentences
Robert J. Howe

SPRING AT THE PHYLLIS SCHLAFLY CORRECTIONAL FACILITY in Broward County. I'm here to visit my mother, who will be fifty-eight in a week. This is no kindness to her, or me. It is a state-mandated visit. I am a living reproach.

I have never seen my mother when she was not in one phase of pregnancy or another, and today is no exception. She looks tired and done to death. The lines around her mouth have solidified since my last visit; they are set in the stone of her face. She looks -- she is -- angry. She has been angry ever since I can remember.

"Hello, Bryan," she says. Despite her angry expression, this comes out almost gently.

The Girl Who Left
Terry Hayman

IN THE PITCH BLACK, the metal grate under Eduardo’s feet shuddered. Eduardo backed against the tube wall and heard the other kids do the same, their suits’ I.D. lights a ring of dancing fireflies. The mucky platform shuddered a second time and the blades below it whirred to life.

“Oh, madre,” Eduardo choked, reaching blindly back for a handhold. How could he have trusted the story of the chica que partío, the girl who left? Trusted and risked all their lives.

With a thump, the grate began sliding back under his feet and a howling suction dragged him to his knees. The children near him screamed.

Then he was suddenly jerked back against the wall, stuck like a bulkhead magnet. A cascade of thuds told him the others were too. The vacuum whooshed garbage past them, fecal matter, metal discards, plastics. Then the only sounds were the suit-to-suit coms of frightened breathing, but you could still feel the blades whirring below them, humming through the walls.

Mirror Bound
Lisa Mantchev

IT’S MORNING AGAIN. Ava is getting ready. I’m on call while the shower runs, even though the steam makes it hard to judge my cue. But when she wipes the silver surface, I’m there to mimic every movement.

She bends in closer to study the tiny pimple that surfaced in the night. I have a pimple too now. That’s just great. She thinks the same thing.

“Shit,” we say. “That’s just great.”

This wouldn’t happen if she washed her face before falling into bed, but there’s no telling her anything. We flounce out of the bathroom, naked and dripping water.

I flicker across the surface of her college diploma and beat her to the bedroom. The mirror only reaches up to our neck, so I stick my tongue out at her. We study our naked curves, suck in our stomachs, heave up our boobs and let them fall again. She slides the closet door out of the way and we switch into high gear, trying on everything she owns and some pieces twice.

It’s like this every morning.

It’s getting really old.

Remember
Josh Rountree

“I SHALL HAVE TO FIGHT the enemy on his own terms, yet I am ready to do it, and if my countrymen do not rally to my relief, I am determined to perish in the defense of this place, and my bones shall reproach my country for her neglect.”

—Lieutenant Colonel William Barret Travis, March 3, 1836

A lone horse thundered across the plain, flanks lathered in sweat, a low-bent rider urging her toward the old mission. Lieutenant Colonel Travis tore his gaze away from the Mexican forces congregating near La Villita and followed the rider’s progress. He grew anxious when he realized it was Bonham returning. Possibilities battled in his heart; fear, hope, cynicism all firing volleys in the war for his soul. Whatever word Bonham carried would decide their fate. He was certain. They’d managed to hold the mission for over a week, but if the Mexican army decided to attack in earnest, the scattering of men at his command would fall in a matter of hours.

Travis ordered open the gate and climbed down from the wall, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that Bonham carried bad news. Yet, did it really matter? With or without reinforcements, he intended to lead his men in defense of this place. Bonham wouldn’t be the first courier to return with word that no help was coming.

Eat the Rich
Daphne Charette

EVERYONE’S GOTTA HAVE A SPECIALITY,” Moof says. Like his is being good at getting the guys to do shit, and at keeping the boxtops around—that’s what he calls hos, cause they got a box and he likes ’em on top, he says. Me, I generally like ’em any way I can get ’em—which isn’t often.

“Now you, Raym, you don’t got no speciality.” Moof squats down next to Raym, shaking his head. Corton giggles—he’s the one staking Raym’s hands. I can hear the thud-thud of the mallet even over the screaming. Moof scowls at Cort, letting him know this isn’t fun time; he’s trying to make a point, here. Cort stops his giggling. Moof glances at the rest of us, making sure we get it.

We get it. Jonah, who’s been a real jag-off lately, pales and looks away as Cort gets back to business. Thud-thud-thud. Raym arches and screams while Moof looks on with this sorrowful expression, kind of serious and regretful. Looking like he’s done all he could but it came to this anyway. Which he did, pretty much. Raym just wasn’t good for anything.