Tara watches the steam rise from her coffee in precise helical patterns, the way heat always dissipates in accordance with the second law of thermodynamics. She thinks about entropy, how all systems tend toward disorder, how even the careful structures built of love and shared mornings begin to dissolve. James is saying something about needing to talk, his voice carrying that familiar frequency she has learned to recognize, the one that signals emotional turbulence barely concealed by forced calm. The afternoon light through the kitchen window catches the dancing dust between them, suspended in Brownian motion, random and purposeless like the words forming between his pauses.

He says he’s been thinking, and she already feels the framework of their life together starting to fracture. She notices the micro-expressions she once memorized: the subtle twitch in his left eye, the unconscious movements of his hands that betray the effort behind his measured tone. She wants to tell him about quantum entanglement, how two particles remain connected across any distance once they’ve interacted, how they affect each other in ways that defy logic and laws. Maybe if she could explain this, he would understand what it means to try to untangle two lives so deeply intertwined. Instead, she says she knows, because she does. She has known in the quiet, cellular way that bodies know when to change, to divide, to surrender.

The silence between them grows like a living thing, filling the space with its presence. She observes how their breathing no longer syncs, how the rhythm of shared sleep and shared life has fractured into jagged, mismatched patterns. He is explaining about growing apart, about wanting different things, about how love sometimes isn’t enough. The words feel both too simple and too heavy, like trying to map a fractal with straight lines, and she begins to catalog the physicality of pain. Elevated heart rate. Constricted throat. Cortisol and adrenaline spilling into her bloodstream as if preparing her for a battle that isn’t there.

She thinks about binding energy, about how even the strongest atomic bonds can be broken with sufficient force, about how matter cannot be destroyed but only transformed. She wonders what they will become, these two people who have shared a bed and a bathroom, the easy intimacy of familiar routines. She says maybe he’s right, because the scientific method demands she follow the evidence, even when it leads to failure, even when it breaks apart hypotheses that once felt unshakable.

The space between them stretches, expands, an invisible force pulling them apart like galaxies adrift in an accelerating universe. She watches him collect his keys and wallet, small acts of departure rendered monumental in their finality. She thinks about conservation, how nothing is truly lost but only changes form, but the thought feels hollow. When he pauses at the door, she sees him suspended in a moment of wave-particle duality, leaving and not leaving, until the act of observation collapses the uncertainty into fact. He leaves.

She sits alone in the kitchen—her kitchen now—and watches the steam rise from her coffee in precise helical patterns, dissipating into the air as heat always does. She thinks about entropy, about how all systems tend toward disorder, about the inevitable unraveling of even the most careful designs.

For some people, dreams are nebulous nothings that disappear upon awakening, never to be remembered or discussed again. I have always had very vivid dreams. As I got older, my dreams began to encompass a full cast of characters and were so detailed I started writing them down so I could turn them into stories, or simply to remember the bizarre.

Sometimes I felt as if I truly lived only while I slept.

I often cry when I wake up.

Increasingly, dreams are the one place I feel safe and happy. Apparently, I am not alone in this sentiment given the overwhelming worldwide popularity of Lifesadream. Its first iteration years ago was as a virtual reality therapy program used to treat a variety of mental illnesses. Known as DreamTherapy, it incorporated positron emission tomography along with deep transcranial magnetic stimulation and a neuroelectro converter that transformed electric signals to images for review, aiding in more effective, targeted therapy. The success rate was nearly 100%, but even now the cost remains beyond the reach of most.

Subsequently, the makers of DreamTherapy modified it for use in the rehabilitation of criminals and enemies of the state (terrorists) with a program called NeuroRehab. Except in government usage, I doubt NeuroRehab will live beyond the experimental stages given the cost (executions cost pennies and the rise of penal labor camps has diminished interest in costly rehabilitation). Even so, to date, five serial killers, 13,012 rapists and 1,469 school shooters have been reintegrated into society as fully functional members thanks to NeuroRehab.

For some reason, none of those included from the enemy of the state group have survived the transcranial magnetic stimulation. I don't know why. They're still experimenting. Of course, there are plenty of subjects for testing, so I suspect it's only a matter of time before, one way or another, domestic discord is eliminated completely.

When DreamTherapy's proprietary technology patent expired, Lifesadream, a division of Neuralink, combined the existing technologies with an implantable neuronano chip that allows everyone to live in their dreams, or, for a more reasonable price, to relive their most precious memories over and over again.

Last year they introduced the neurocable and I've been trying to participate in the program ever since. Until the neurocable, you could only live in your own mind; but with the neurocable, two can exist in the mind of one.

After months of waiting, hoping and refreshing the waitlist page ad nauseum, three weeks ago I won the Lifesadream lottery. The waitlist has had millions of names since they first went live. So far, some one million people across the globe have entered Lifesadream facilities. In order to accommodate as many people as possible domestically, the U.S. government provided, at low cost to Neuralink, thousands of expropriated libraries and university campuses that had fallen into disuse.

As soon as I got the call, I quit my job and sold our house. Yesterday morning, I signed over power of attorney and our savings to the Lifesadream Foundation. They will use the money to maintain and care for my husband and I as we live out the remainder of our lives in my mind. My dreams. As I look at my husband sitting in his favorite chair, eyes vacant, I cannot wait.

**********

"Are you comfortable, Mrs. Pickering?"

It was evening. I was laying in a soft bed in a room that was probably a professor's office back in the day. The body suit in which they'd dressed me gently massaged my limbs. My husband was in the other bed, sleeping under a white comforter. There was an IV line in his arm, the bag hanging to the left of his bed. Mine was to my right. There were armchairs as well. We were surrounded by nurses and the surgeon we'd met that morning. A machine with various monitors stood between our beds, embedded in the wall and there was a desk with a chair and a monitor near the door. The windows were high up and I could see the sky was a pretty purple that would soon fade to black.

"Yes, thank you."

"Dr. Woburn..."

"Call me Maynard..."

"Dr. Woburn will be inserting the neuronano chip through the nasal cavity. It is painless and relatively quick. We'll start with Mr. Pickering and then we'll insert yours.

"Next, we'll attach the electromagnetic coils to both of you. We will wait until you fall asleep naturally since sedatives might affect your dreams, and then we will connect the neuro cable into the ports we placed above your ears this morning.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Do we ever wake up?"

She glanced at her tablet and said, "You have the lifetime package so we will keep you under until you die of natural causes. We will use the transcranial magnetic stimulator to maintain a state of infinite REM for both you and Mr. Pickering."

"What happens to people who don't have the lifetime package?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"The package. Some choose the End of Life package in which case we put them under and then after 24 hours, we inject them with Pentobarbital. Some, like you, choose the Lifetime package and we keep them until they pass. Some with a partner choose the Until Death Do Us Part package in which case we keep them under until one dies and then awaken the other who can then decide whether to go back under with an end of life package or go home. Depends on the desire and the available funds, of course.

"Some choose the Memory Lane package and run a series of isolated memories for a set period determined by price. At the end of that period they are awakened and go back to their lives. It's a kind of vacation for some people. It's a great stress reliever. I do it once a month."

"If he dies first, will I still dream with him?"

"That is unclear at this time, but it is possible."

"What have others said?"

"At this time, all our clients making use of the neurocable are still in a joint state of REM."

"There haven't been any deaths?"

The nurses exchanged a glance. "At this time, all our clients remain in a state of REM, either alone or with a partner."

"What happens if I die first?"

"As stated in the contract, if the dominant party predeceases the partner, the partner will be removed to our hospice facilities and kept comfortable until their passing."

"What if he dies first?"

"He will be cremated and buried with you upon your expiration."

"So, this is it. I won't see you or this room again?"

"All things being equal, no."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "Thank you for all you are doing and will do for us. The world had gotten almost unbearable for us. For me. It was so bad I looked forward to sleeping every night as a short escape. I can't believe we can actually, truly live happily ever after now. It's a dream come true. Literally." I laughed. The nurses smiled.

"Are you ready, Mrs. Pickering?"

I looked over at my husband of 42 years.

"Yes."

**********

"Baby?"

As I slowly awakened, I felt my husband's arms around me, his body strong and warm. I opened my eyes, "Eddie?"

"Morning, baby," he said, kissing me softly. "You wouldn't believe the dream I had. I swear I was dreaming our whole life all night."

"Really?" I said, running a hand through hair that was thick, curly and brown.

"Yeah, it was wild. We had a kid, I started my own business, you taught physics for 30 years and then retired to take care of me because I got early onset Alzheimer's. It was a nightmare! I was so glad when I woke up this morning and it was all just a dream."

Looking into his eyes, I smile. "Me too, my love," I leaned up to kiss him. "Me, too."

behind me on the train

sucking soda through a straw

pushing the straw up and down

through the splintered hole

of a thin plastic cover

sucking soda through the straw

in my backpack the solution

i just happen to have

a large wooden cutting board

which i remove

gripping the bottom of both ends

of the short side

sucking soda

pushing the straw

sucking

as the momentum of my turn-around

slams the top of the board

upside one stunned face

then the afterglow

the ensuing silence

the relief

broken by a sound from hell

the kars4kids commercial

from some distant radio

in my backpack the solution

i just happen to have

an axe

11/19/2024

Staring down at her shackled hands, the shame sets her cheeks ablaze. Is the air heavy with malice? Or is that simply her imagination. Always, she had soft landings, until now. Handcuffed to the table, left to wonder what comes next. Your mind retraces your steps at times like this. How, exactly, did I end-up here. Working backwards through the hours, days, weeks, months, years of her life. Was it just inevitable? Or a series of foolish decisions? Or an emptiness, a yearning, that brought her here.

She splayed her fingers across the wood grain. Is it just painted aluminum? Are there clues here, on this table, about what comes next? If there are, is she equipped to see them?

Her entire body tensed as the door creaked open. She squeezed her eyes closed. She heard laughter down a hallway. Was it menacing laughter? Her mind, in the moment...so muddled, so frenzied...she was afraid to open her eyes. She focused on the sounds, the creaking door, the soft latch as it closed. The click as it locked. Footsteps, breathing...hers? theirs?

The touch on her hand made her jump and her eyes flew open reflexively.

"Don't be afraid." he said with a smile.

I bought from Staples earlier today

November 18th, 2024

cuz the the older one malfunctioned.

Said older generation mouse sported

a rather extensive "mouse cable,"

one end of which ended

in a standard connector

namely a USB (Universal Serial Bus),

which plugged into the Macbook Pro computer.

Though the aforenamed laptop

equipped with a small square panel

containing different touch-sensitive areas

linkedin with cursor movement.

I much prefer to manipulate

that amazing hand-held device

detecting two-dimensional motion,

and translates "planar motion"

into cursor movement,

and yours truly (me) particularly elated

after quickly jimmying electronic

palm size pièce de résistance

to function without a hitch.

As part of an ARPA-funded experiment

to find better ways for computer users

to interact with computers,

Douglas Engelbart of SRI—

who would later work

on the DARPA-sponsored

ARPANET project,

the Internet's precursor—

invented the computer mouse.

Perhaps growing up

and attending public school

within Lower Providence, Pennsylvania

where quaint accoutrements

like blackboard and chalk

(and a daily volunteer -

ofttimes a teacher's pet - NOT ME

(hashtagged as a pestilence)

satisfactorily wiped the slate clean

for another day).

Matter of fact, I barely completed

twelve years of education,

where cribbed writing of mine

wrote illegible scratch marks

(mostly drawing blanks),

when examinations got handed out.

In retrospect, the much younger me,

(whether as a little boy, prepubescent,

older teen, and even as an emerging adult)

lived a quite sheltered life totally oblivious

to any danger field), and allowed, enabled

and provided himself to be mollycoddled

much against the objection

of a father and mother, and even myself,

whose pledge of allegiance

to passive aggressive behavior

wore patience thin

toward their singular male offspring,

whose unnatural control

of his (mine) spontaneity

in tandem with suppressed healthy predilections

essentially stunted emotional, mental

and physical growth and maturation.

Ofttimes, especially when trying to coax

extemporaneous good humor

constituting mine introspective mien

synonymous with mean during little boy

(think quintessential generative

artificial intelligence realm

where chatbot accidentally waxes philosophical

randomly and unthinkingly

displaying creative binary agility )

surfaces to level of consciousness

a mindset awakens

(particularly when attempting to evince

a playfulness crafting literary endeavors)

analogous to the impetuousness of a child,

whose innovative spirited "joie de vivre."

Here I am

Folding my depression

Into a neat little packet

And tucking it away

For Monday morning

Don't forget to smile.

All I have left are ghosts.

The ghost of my marriage

Anniversary mid October,

the ghost of my dad

died early November,

the ghost of my family

haunting the holidays,

and now the ghost of you

haunting my birthday

December 3

the last day I saw you.

Now everything

is just growing old and dying.

What I wouldn’t give

for one more hint of life,

one more hint of youth,

one more night with you.

Short Fiction Contests

“Fabuly Writer’s Challenge

“Step into Fabuly's writer's challenge and create a short 2,000-word story that focuses on this year's theme: an unexpected encounter. The winner of Fabuly's contest will win $500 and be featured in the mobile app as a professionally illustrated and produced audiobook.

Deadline: December 14, 2024

Prize: $500 and Audiobook production

“Story Shares’ Story of the Year

“It's the seventh annual Story of the Year Contest hosted by Storyshares, featuring up to $15,000 in cash prizes. In addition to the available monetary prize, winners and runners-up will have their works included in the Storyshares library, which currently serves tens of thousands of students worldwide.

Deadline: January 13, 2025

Prize: Up to $15,000 and publication

“Story Unlikely’s Short Story Contest

“The folks at Story Unlikely run a monthly digital magazine that shares a wide range of short stories with no genre restrictions, providing something for nearly every reader. The team also runs its annual short story contest, offering up to $1,500 for the first-place winner and the opportunity to be included in the publication's yearly print magazine.

Deadline: January 21, 2025

Prize: Up to $1,500 and publication

“Arc Manor Books' Mike Resnick Memorial Award

“The Mike Resnick Memorial Award, hosted by Arc Manor Books, is presented to a new science fiction author to reflect upon the American fiction writer of the same name who was nominated for 37 Hugo Awards in his lifetime. Short science fiction works up to 7,499 words can be submitted by authors who have yet to have any work published.

Deadline: To Be Determined (2025)

Prize: $250 and a trophy

“Baen Books' Jim Baen Memorial Short Story Award

“The team at Baen Books' is hosting the Jim Baen Memorial Short Story Award, recognizing a work of science fiction under 8,000 words. The publisher is looking for stories that show manned space exploration in the near future (50-60 years out). Baen notes they want to highlight realistic, optimistic science fiction showcasing our potential future, so no dystopian tales here.

Deadline: February 1, 2025

Prize: Publication with pay and a trophy

General Prose Contests

“Minotaur Books/Mystery Writers of America First Crime Novel Competition

“Minotaur Books, an imprint of Macmillan Books, and the Mystery Writers of America are teaming up to offer a competition highlighting a debut writer's first crime novel. You can submit previously published manuscripts (self-published not permitted) for consideration.

Deadline: December 15, 2024

Prize: $10,000 future royalties advance

“Kinsman Avenue's Stories of Inspiration

“Kinsman Avenue Publishing is running its Stories of Inspiration contest, an opportunity for nonfiction writers. Writers with stories highlighting the struggle and resilience of the human spirit related to marginalized communities' cultures are welcome. Individuals of a BIPOC or underrepresented community are preferred.

Deadline: December 21, 2024

Prize: Publication with pay

“L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future Contest

“Lafayette Ronald Hubbard wrote science fiction and fantasy at the beginning and end of his life. The Writers of the Future Contest was launched in 1983 to highlight aspiring authors in the field of speculative fiction. Today, the contest continues annually, offering the grand prize winner a $5,000 cash prize and trophy.

Deadline: December 31, 2024

Prize: Up to $5,000 and a trophy

“Friends of American Writers Literature Award

“The Friends of American Writers Literature Award focuses on emerging authors whose books focus on the Midwest United States. If you have a book that has already been published, you can submit it for consideration as long as you are a Midwestern resident or your book's setting is within the Midwest.

Deadline: December 2024

Prize: Recognition

Poetry Contests

“Poetry Society of America's Four Quartets Prize

“The Poetry Society of America, founded in 1910, continues its mission of bringing poetry into everyday American life with its Four Quartets Prize. If you are a poet with a complete sequence of poems published in the United States in 2024, you are invited to enter. Finalists receive $1,000 each, with the winner receiving an additional $20,000.

Deadline: December 31, 2024

Prize: Up to $21,000

“Defenestrationism Lengthy Poem Contest

“Based on its name, we cannot think of a better organization to host the Lengthy Poem Contest than Defenstrationsim. Poets are invited to enter a poem of considerable length, at least 120 lines long, for submission. The contest runners will publish the three finalists on the website, and several days of public voting will be available before a winner is announced.

Deadline: January 1, 2025

Prize: $300

The Levis Reading Prize

“The Levis Reading Prize is offered yearly in memory of the Virginia Commonwealth University poet and faculty member. It recognizes the best first or second book of poetry published by a poet. Winners receive an honorarium and are invited, expenses paid, to Richmond, Va., for a public reading the following autumn.

Deadline: January 15, 2025

Prize: Honorarium and an invitation to Richmond

“Note: Before submitting to any writing contest, please carefully review the contest's rules and eligibility. These change regularly, so make sure to confirm that a contest has not instituted submission fees since this article was written.

15th November, 2024