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Shock to Equilibrium
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This week in Stoneslide
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This week in Stoneslide
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To see little children running down the street in glow-in-the-dark skeleton costumes or rolling on the ground spattered in fake blood, in ecstatic, giggling, fake death agonies, is to realize that the fear of death, which can be incapacitating to one in a saturnine state of mind, can also be a source of delight. Fear of death must be the granddaddy of fears. If we can laugh at that, how can we not laugh also at the fear of spiders, or eating slimy foods, or smelly coworkers? But we will not laugh about the fear of dentists. There is nothing funny about dentists. They are pure terror.
This week we bring you three variations on fear. The first dodges back and forth over the line between fear of love and love of death. This excellent and exciting short story, “How to Murder Your Friends,” by Libby Cudmore, won our Stoneslide Snap Contest.
The second happened by accident. Sylvester was drinking his morning triple-pumpkin-spice latte while doing some routine maintenance on the Rejection Generator. He left his paper cup on top of the machine where something–we don’t know for certain if it was a material or non-corporeal, benevolent or malicious something–jogged the machine just enough to send Sylvester’s seasonally spiced beverage splashing into the works. We were concerned the Generator might be damaged and we’d have to take it offline for repairs, but instead it just started producing Halloween-themed rejections. Go try it out. Or read one of the spooky productions below.
Third is a story about a man who fears that what he loves most could be taken away from him. But this man will not live in peaceable surrender to this fear. He will take up what arms are available to him and fight for what he loves.
We hope you enjoy reading.
Whose Life Is It, Anyway?
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Beneath a moon sliced cleanly in half, Jason reread the note—his suicide note—and then crumpled it up. He stepped off the sidewalk into the gutter and squatted. He pushed the note through a sewer grate. The note fell, but got caught in the spiky branches of a seedling growing sideways out of a crack. He found a stick and knocked the note free and it fell again, all the way. Now it would end up in San Francisco Bay, where he hoped to end up.
soapberry wasp
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This issue sponsored by the new film from Gorgons Bluff Productions. Watch the preview now.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.
This issue sponsored by the new film from Gorgons Bluff Productions. Watch the preview now.Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
And then I always say WTF.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
Yo, she thought. The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.
Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
The barrack stood at the very edge of the northwest block, the furthest point from a guard tower, and was where Margaret went to collect petrified leaves, bones, pebbles, berries, seed pods, the scooped-out carapaces of beetles. Anything that could work as decoration in a flower arrangement.Margaret Morri met the devil in person just once. It was in a standalone barrack, partially hidden beside an oddly lush and vibrant copse of trees, where the ground was blanketed by leaves that were ovate, serrated, blackened by age. And though the trees bore ripe fruit, enormous thundercloud plums, their skins fissuring and gurgling thickly with honey, the crows and ants of Gila River wanted no part of them. The red plums swelled, their sugar broke free and ran down, darkening the sand.
Kiik A. K.
Kiik A.K. is a graduate of the University of California, Berkeley, and Santa Clara University. He earned an MA from UC Davis where his poetics thesis was titled “THE JOY OF HUMAN SACRIFICE,” and an MFA from UC San Diego where his collection of counter-internment narratives was titled “EVERYDAY COLONIALISM.” His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Pleiades, The Southeast Review, iO, Washington Square, CutBank, and The Masters Review.
READ THE REST OF ISSUE NO. 2.
CONTENTS
November-November Marriage
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Jimmy R. Calhoun stepped out of the bodega on 72nd Street while listening to “Creep,” by Radiohead through his earbuds/72nd Street while his earbuds blasted “Creep,” Radiohead’s anthem of alienation and angel sightings. The Widow Finkelstein, coming from his left, stumbled as her foot knocked into his. The Widower Roth, coming from the other side, bumped his shoulder into Jimmy’s shoulder and then thrust an arm against the store’s awning to steady himself.
In the aftermath, Jimmy turned first one way, where the Widow Finkelstein was windmilling her arms and pulling her torso back upright after a worrisome dip, and then the other, where the Widower Roth was gasping for breath. “Sorry,” Jimmy said.
“’Sorry?’ Do you know what that word means?” the Widow Finkelstein croaked, pulling at her dress. “If you’re sorry, if you possess any decency, you try to make something right. Sorry doesn’t mean standing there like a dead tuna.”
“Next time don’t wear those fibberdigibbets in your ears,” declaimed the Widower Roth. “There’s a real world out here, and some of us have to try to survive in it.”
The widow’s heart cracked/eased open at these words, as will happen when you hear your own thoughts voiced by another person and they seem to be something true and elevated. The widower’s pulse quickened, as he sensed a deep commonality, a sharing of thought, experience, and moral outlook with another human being that made the world come into sudden focus.
Jimmy muttered, “Yeah. Sorry,” and walked away.
The Widower Roth approached the Widow Finkelstein and said, “Here. Here, let me help you. There’s a chair here, and you need some air.”
Within a few minutes, the Widower Roth had bought her a cold Sprite. Within another day, the Widow Finkelstein had cooked a good, wholesome dinner for him. Within two weeks they had spent a night together in the same bed. Within a month, they announced they planned to get married.
Their children recommended prenuptials and various schemes to keep their finances separate, but the lovers refused. They had found bliss in union. They were new people.
They never stopped to think that if Jimmy hadn’t stepped out of that bodega when he did, they would have collided with each other and shared only a moment of enmity.
