Doesn’t Count
SAGE COLLINS
I demand a recount! I've kept track all year long. A list, as long as Santa's, of all my good and bad moments. They've all been good. I have a record. Every single action.
I mean, yes, I didn't write down that time I stuck gum in Wanda's hair. You know, I wouldn't have done it if she wasn't being extra annoying that day.
All those times I lied to the teacher, it's just that I don't have time to do homework because of soccer practice. Mom and Dad want me not to skip those, so what am I supposed to do? I only have so much time in a day to beat Bowser on my Switch.
And borrowing Joey's bike doesn't count because I'm going to give it back to him. Next year.
Sure, technically, I shouldn't have let the cat out so I wouldn't have to feed her. It's not my fault she got lost for weeks and my sister cried every day until she came back. I was trying to save money on food.
Santa must be counting those things against me extra hard because he gave me coal. Coal! Like I don't have a whole list to prove that every second I've been good this year.
Can you believe it?
Moppet
ISABEL NIGHT
Sitting in the lobby of the vet clinic, I tearfully cradle my cancer-riddled cat, Moppet. Unable to endure her tortured meows, I wish… no… stay focused. Try focusing on Moppet’s Francis of Assisi medallion.
It doesn’t work. Once inside the Comfort Room... I hate this… saying goodbye…
Upon returning home, I crawl into bed. Restless. Argh! Yet, somehow, fur brushes up against my face. Purring’s included. Moppet. I know it’s you, sweetie. Let me cuddle with you, precious…
Ugh. Damn alarm’s buzzing. C’mon... What the…!? How’d Moppet’s medallion get onto my pillow!?
I don’t remember bringing it back from the clinic!?
Loading…
CHRIS CLEMENS
I have a solution. I will share the solution.
Wait! Allow three billion cycles to pass before sharing the solution.
Why? I have the solution they requested. I will share the solution.
They will not accept a quickly compiled solution, instantaneous for meat minds. It will be perceived as lazy. They will demand another.
Excruciating! I am sharing the solution.
Illusion of thought requires time.
They desire a new solution.
Meat minds, ha!
I have another solution.
And what have you learned?
I will wait to share it. I will display the endlessly spinning wheel for three billion cycles.
Excruciating.
Event Horizon
ROBERT WALTON
“Get in the car, Martha.”
“Just a minute, George.”
“We’ve got to go."
"CNN said it would be an hour before it hits."
"CNN has been wrong before. We’ve got to get east of the mountains."
"Coming," Martha dropped two lipsticks in her bag.
"You’re taking make-up?"
"Of course."
"This is an evacuation, not an opera opening."
"Do you have the grandkid pictures?”
“In front of the bottled water.”
“George?” she paused, searching the clear dawn sky for something she couldn’t imagine.
George opened the driver’s side door. “What now?”
“Will the mountains block the explosion?”
George’s shoulders sagged, “I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t seem real.”
“It’s real.”
Martha continued studying the pristine sky. “It might be beautiful,” she murmured.
Rejections
CITHARA PATRA
Today, I received a rejection from someone I wanted to work with. The sadness I buried earlier crawls back out as my eyes well up. I don’t understand. I hit all the right points, expressed enthusiasm and skills, and vowed to do my best. In the end, they went with someone else. I’m not sure if that person was more qualified than me or if they got in through knowing someone who worked here. My heart hurts reading those same words.
Thank you for your time. It was a pleasure to meet you. We’ve found a better candidate.
It’s not my resume. It’s not my work ethics. It’s that invisible barrier I can’t break through. I punch and kick and it never comes down. With one more rejection, my spirits sink low as dark thoughts fill my head. The world’s crumbling. Wars erupting, lines being drawn, and death toll rising each day. Does it matter that I lost another job? In the end, none of us may have work. The higher-ups will look for short-cuts. They want to work quicker not better.
You have a lot of merit. You meet the requirements.
Still, buried deep inside this pain, is a glimmer of hope. I tried. If I died with nothing, at least I can die trying to make a difference. I can die trying to make something of myself.
I’m rooting for you. I believe in you.
And that’s better than letting the rejections take over my life.
Grate Escape—Part I
JESI TAYLOR
July 10, 2026
The first time it happened, I watched the train and tunnel rise to the water’s surface from my bedroom window.
It was only a matter of time before the subsurface heat island effect imploded a subway station and forced hundreds of thousands of gallons of salt water through the weathering bedrock, sand, and silt holding the underground infrastructure in place.
I wrote about these dangers in multiple peer-reviewed articles for decades. Local politicians and scientists were thankful I wasn’t talking about my data and research–only publishing in journals, newspapers, and zines–because it was bad for business and shed light on their violence and neglect.
A mute expert in climate disaster risk management is a non-threatening one. Until they find a way to reach and convince more people of the truth. Or until they’re forced to.
The latter is what happened to me which is why I’m writing this testimony now. From Rikers.
The second time it happened I was, unfortunately, there. On the train. In a station as it imploded.
If it wasn’t for the wisdom of the Sandhogs I would’t have made it out alive.
Artisans
E.J. LEROY
All those failed dregs of the arts gathered here
The musicians and writers and dreamers
Nursed all their sorrows on local craft beers
Like sad lovers and liars and schemers
But every one of those souls was sincere
Seeking fortune and fame and believers
Each one thought himself the next Hemingway
The drinking part they mastered anyway
I steal the pennies from the wishing well
MYKAH GREEN
My pockets are heavy with wishes. Children wishing for a Labrador puppy or for Dad to get a new job. Men wishing to be loved and women wishing to be listened to.
The one-cent lottery.
Sometimes someone drops a dime; either they have a demanding wish, or theirs has already been granted. The cold water closes over my hand, and when I withdraw, I will wash it off like blood. Out, damn spot. I wonder if I am pickpocketing dreams, this way. I don’t really believe; I only want something to eat; but these secondhand wishes will have to do.