Journey of the Mind | Stories & Poems

  Pasha pulled his wife’s still buzzing phone from the charger and stared at the unlock screen. For the last several years, without fail, her phone buzzed at six in the morning and five in the evening. No matter how many combinations he tried it refused to yield and instead displayed the same goddamned ENTER PIN message over and over. He put the phone in his pocket and turned to his toolboxes. Shrouded in the gloom of the dimming lights he stood there mechanically pounding his fist on each toolbox as he turned the locks. “Merry Christmas Pasha,” Nick said. Pasha turned to Nick squaring his shoulders, “Yeah, you too.” “You know we’re going to have a big get together at my place tomorrow and you’re welcome…” “Yeah, is your mom’s gonna be there? Bet she’s still talking about me. Oh Pasha, yes, yes! Nick never gives it to me like this!” “Fuck you! You don’t have to be an asshole every day of the week.” “I got friends and family. I don’t need your charity.” “Against my b...

  Born from a broken flask, Lives reflected in a glass. The neon signs shimmer and push against the setting sun. Drawn to the light, I surrender to the gloom, floating inside a neon haze.   The liqueur is chalky white, like the broken bones of youth. Every euphoric revery paid with a dreadful kick. But the pain is erased with an apathetic sip, and paralysis begins, floating inside a neon haze.   The foam whispers and spills over the glass. It caresses my hand like a jealous lover. And I see her there still, sobbing on the cooling sand. Her shadow growing long in the waning summer hour. And I let the echoes of the past grow quiet, floating inside a neon haze.   The brandy is a dingy red, like the gore untethered by your hand. Its warmth presses against the cold. It covers stormy faces and muffles the debate, and everything seems normal, floating inside a neon haze.   So, I let the bubbles rise, like incoherent dre...

  “In chess, the primary objective of the opening is to develop the pieces and achieve a playable position.” ChessMarshals.com The smell of cheap catered food wafted from the warming trays and settled over the holiday adorned walls and checkered tiles of the Parlogne manufactory breakroom. In the far corner a television displayed an oddly complected man garbed in a blue suit as he prattled about a rigged election. Lysander looked at his watch. He detested company parties. Trying to pretend that he was interested in his subordinates’ personal lives and they in his was exhausting, and a waste of his time. So much so that he divided his attention between the digital display on his wrist and Patsy Auger, the company’s production manager and acting human resources officer. “I have some great news,” Patsy said to the group of production workers turned party goers huddled around her. “The Occupational Safety and Health Administration has completed their investigation into the death of...

  A shadow visited last night. Not dark and visceral but it radiated with a contradictory light. Its calling felt rather surreal.   I watched as it danced, played and even cried. From a distance I couldn’t help but stare. Its brilliant stature growing wide, living life as if on a dare.   I laughed and wept with this formidable sprite. this person I never met. A life lived outside of black and white, a courage to live without regret.

  The gravel underneath the truck’s tires let out muffled pops and cracks as the vehicle slowed and finally came to a stop in front of the tractor repair shop. The former funeral home, converted to a garage, was given a large berth by the surrounding buildings. The shop’s aluminum siding appeared gray in color giving the structure an unnatural waxy appearance. Sarah slipped from the passenger side and shut the door. The normally loud thud was subdued in the early morning fog. She looked back at the old, dilapidated tractor resting motionless, and silent on top of the trailer its bulk was enclosed on all four sides with only the upper half exposed to the chilly air. Her lips pursed and her eyes blinked uncontrollably, batting at the moisture flooding them. She remained there for a few moments before turning and walking towards the service entrance. Halfway there a figure in blue coveralls wearing a baseball cap emerged from the door. “Morning mam. What can we do for you?” The el...