make something #3

8/8/2019 Make Something #3

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M A K E

S O

M E T

H I

N G


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Gett ing an issue of th is magazine made isa ser ies of serendipi tous moments , whichmeans i t i s a bunch of bl ind luck on my par t .This issue has been no different . The very

lovely painted Geisha who graces the f rontof th is i ssue was sent to me as a generalsubmiss ion, a long with some other greatar t done by Kat ie Cowden, some of whichcan be seen in th is very issue. Once Kat ieagreed to le t t ing me use the image as a cover submiss ions s tar ted to t r ickle in once againand i t looked l ike th is i ssue would actual lyhappen. Then Warren El l is l inked the MakeSomething thread on Whitechapel that hadme asking for more wri t ten work, th is lead

to a ton of s tor ies being submit ted, morestor ies then the to ta l submiss ions I ve hadfor th is magazine put together! While veryawesome, i t d id put me behind a lo t as I readthrough al l the work. . . or t r ied to , I found as tory I s t i l l havent read yet two weeks ago,and several I have yet to respond to . I f youhave submit ted work and I havent repl ied Iapologize , I got very overwhelmed.

I would love to say that i s the onlyreason this i ssue is la te . I t s not . I a lwaysfeel that i t s my job to t ry and make sure eachissue is p leas ing to look a t . This makes mesometimes over th ink designs when i t comesto wri t ten work. Which is very fool ish of me of course . The wri t ten word can createenough imagery on i t s own, and this i snta big fancy magazine, i t s a s imple s t ra ightforward premise and execut ion that i s a l lsummed up in the t i t le , Make Something . Itake th ings people created and help get themout in to the world for more people to look a t them and enjoy the work. And the s tor iesin th is i ssue ( the previous issues as wel l asthose to come as wel l ) are qui te good, thereis var ie ty in genre and subject mat ter, andthey pul l you into the s tory. Some may not

be to your personal tas te , I know Ive readsome works that whi le not something I wouldhave sought out , I enjoyed thouroughly uponreading.

Speaking of good or not , I have not iceda sad t rend when i t comes to creators ,so many of them seem unsure of thei r work. I have got ten many emai ls wi th

submiss ions that include a phrase that goesalong the l ines of Im not sure this is any goodreal ly, or I unders tand i f you dont wantto use th is i f you think i t s crap, and i t jus tmakes me sad, especia l ly s ince typical ly i ti s something I would consider good. Someof i t i s s tuff I f ind incredibly great . I cansee where the uncer ta inty comes f rom, afear of having your creat ion being r ippedapar t and shot down is bruta l . But jus t havesome hope for your work, and hopeful ly I

never get another emai l where the wri ter i shard on themselves .

Anyways, theres some great s tuff in th is i ssue. I t ranges f rom sciencef ic t ion to family drama, includes humor,t ragedy, and horror, and thats a l l beforewe get to Space Shark (a sub genre a l l untohimself) . There is f inal ly some poetry inan issue, I a lways imagined poetry beingsubmitted before hand, but Ben is the first , buthopeful ly not the las t . The ar twork in th isissue is a lso some beaut i ful work, wel lmaybe not so much Medea, i t i s morecreepy and int r iguing, I real ly love how i tlooks pr inted out . I could go on and te l lyou what I l ike about each contr ibut ion tothis magazine, but I wi l l jus t f in ish th is upso I can put the damn PDF into MagCloudso people can buy the issue. I hope youenjoy the work as much as I do.

Allen Wiggs

A "BRIEF" WORD FROM THE EDITOR


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Geisha 1

A Maker s Mani fes to 4

Beard Overwhelming! 5

Spine / But te r f l ies 6 / 7

Assor ted Sonnets 8

How Books Are Made 10

A Stone Wall Betwee n Us 12

Lucha Libre En Mexica l 18

Re-Invent ion 22

The Savior of Time 24

Space Shark 25

Medea 28

by Katie Co wden

by Steve Or mosi

by Clay

by Katie Co wden

by Ben Gwalchmai

by Ryan Tho mpson

by Chris topher M. Becket t

by Emerson Murray

by Kris ta Q Di Fulvio

by Dan Black

by Chri s G.

by Emerson Murray


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A Makers Manifesto: BorrowedThoughts, Personal Ideasby Steve Ormosi

What happens when you make something? When you put in a serious effort of getting those neuronsring in just the right manner? A trimming of the excess. A shaping of the mental shrubbery, if you will.

I will.

I WILL NOT WASTE ANY MORE TIME.

It really sickens me to think of all the time Ive wasted just thinking. I should be doing. I should bemaking things. Does this make sense to you? I hope so. My brain bulges in my skull to imagine all thestories out there, untold. It turns my hands into gnarled hammers to remember all the times Ive forgottenwhat it is I wanted to make. As a great man once said, I am literally angry with rage. So Im makingsomething. Something that might never have been made without a push. And Im thinking thoughts thatwould have never been thought except that now theres a reason to. And whats more, theres a will.

I WILL CREATE.

Im toiling, and it will probably never be complete, but Im making something. It is something that Im proud of. It is something that I think you will like too. Thats the dream, anyway. It is not a toaster.

Are you wondering what Im making? I can trust you, right? Its a bomb. And when it goes off you willhear it from hundreds of miles around. And you will know that it was me. Tell everyone. They wontrecognize it unless you do. Its a neuron bomb. Firing directly in your brain. Who knows? If enough

people are in the blast radius, it could change the world. Or break it. Either way you will be there, friend.We will be there together.

I WILL TELL YOU WHAT YOU CAN DO.

Make something and live. Do anything and breathe. Fill the void with you.


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Flight [Dedicated to Flight Lieutenant Ian Fortune]

The ears drumming perforated,the pressure relievesas we descend.Theres no rush of windagainst the skin butinstead a cold lm in the air causes the hairs to stand on end.A Lark Ascending alongsideacts as a reminder of the music we misswhere we are were we on the wing

drumming, gliding bleeding, holding.

The Cyclist

Im a cyclist, she said.Wearing the fact till a jaguars tail,emerging from her tongues head,

icked me with a thick cyc-lic ailto which I remained unimpressed.Im a cyclist, she said.Again. Again I wanted to say Vive vitesse!But was about to say something elsewhen I love city cycling best.Its a new adventure everyday.The robin stitched to her red breast

began to tweet uncontrollably.I dared not ask what she did for a living - Im a cyclist, she said.

Thirst

Head. Pounding. Hard. I think of the river I swam in as a boy, Dont drink it, BenJohn had said Id drink it if I ever got back there or it got me here. Right then,the sun is set, time to walk this desert.Brawling sands cut a twelvefold lip intomy soles that kiss a cold, unquenching dirtfurther in to my cracked skin but I do

continue...barefoot and barely clad...butthere is hope still and still I should keep mythoughts still and not of water, not how hotnor how heavy my legs are nor the pain in my thigh...

Though I now lie with my face in the sand...I still picture a full cup in my hand...

Sonnets


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Large raindrops beat the shingle roof, calling to theve-year-old as he lay on his bed. Daniel Mullers eyes

were closed as he concentrated on the sound of eachraindrop. He was counting them, reaching fty-sevenonce before the sounds pooled together.Daniel soon bored of this and rolled off his bed,

oorboards creaking as he landed. He walked to hiswindow and stared through the curtain of rain outside.He scanned the elds searching for his father. But therain overhung with dark clouds made it impossible.Daniel!His sister was calling. Lisa was six years older, withlong blonde hair like her brother and similar features soft cheeks, big eyes, and a long nose. The rst fewdays of her summer vacation Daniel had been happy tohave his sister around. But that had soon changed.Daniel! Come here!

Daniel wanted to ignore her but knew that was useless.Daniel! she screamed.Hed hit the nerve.What? he called as he walked down the hall to her room.Im bored. Play with me.Lisa was sitting in the middle of her bedroom oor with the dolls house their father had built for her sixth

birthday. It was the last time the old man had madeanything. In her hands, Lisa was holding two of themany cloth dolls she had collected over the years.

Nah, said Daniel. I got better things to do.Like what? Count the holes in your ceiling?Daniel didnt say anything.Come on. Mom always played dolls with me.Daniel shrugged, stepped into his sisters room and satdown.Here. Lisa handed over two of her dolls for her brother.Daniel scrunched his face upa default responsebutsoon scooched himself forward so he could more easilyinteract with the miniature real estate.

An hour passed. Daniel and Lisa were so involvedwith their play they didnt hear their father coming upthe stairs. Reaching Lisas room, he nearly lled thedoorway as he took in the scene before him. YoungDaniel looked up from where he was crouched low onthe oor and his stomach clenched at the expression

on his fathers face.What the hell are you doing? asked Big Dan, hiseyes set squarely on his son.Playing, replied Daniel.The large man took a step into the room and reachedover the doll house, grabbing Daniels left arm justabove the elbow. Lurching back, the farmer yankedhis son from the oor causing the boys shoulder to

pop. Daniel screamed in pain as his feet cleared theroof of the doll house.How are you going to grow up to be a man if youre

playing with dolls? Eh? His fathers question barelyregistered with the boy.Look at me when I speak to you!When Daniel did not respond, the larger Muller slapped his son across the cheek. Youre just likeyour mother.With tears streaming down his face, Daniel stared upat his father for a good moment, then stepped aroundhim and raced out. Reaching his own bedroom,Daniel slammed the door behind him. His fathersvoice slipped under to grate at him one more time.

And dont come out until youve thought aboutwhat it means to be a man!

Get up. His fathers voice was gruff but soft, notyet fully awake. Outside, the sun had yet to rise, athin line of gray above the trees the only indication itwas morning.Come on, his father was insistent.The pain in Daniels shoulder had subsided. He

A Stone Wall

Between UsBy Christopher M. Beckett


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blinked away a small tear as he reached down to pull off his nightshirt but his father interrupted him.Youll be ne with that. Daniel rolled out of bedand slid his feet into his shoes.Big Dan had already stepped back into the hall whenDaniel moved to follow, his short legs shuf ing tokeep up with his fathers long strides.

Dan Muller had been a vital part of the community,sharing his opinion when asked, helping neighborswhen they needed it, being a good citizen. Many anight he had entertained the mayor or the minister athis farmhouse outside of town long into the evening.Some were surprised that Dan had never run for townof ce, but that wasnt the type of man Dan Muller was. He was happy to offer assistance when he could,

but Big Dan was a farmer and knew he wasnt cut outto run anything more than the acres he owned.

All of that changed when Anna passed giving birthto Daniel.Care for the baby was given over to Mrs. Janssonfrom the next farm over, and Dan retreated to his

elds. Trips into town became a rarity, Big Dan oftensending his daughter with a list of supplies to bedelivered. There were attempts by some to help bringhim out of his depression. Dan wasnt so much rudeas he was brief in his conversation when the Samsonsand the Olczyks visited the farm. His boisterousmanner had been buried with his wife.

Dan Muller was also an obstinate man, adding tothe burden he now bore and accounting for his newobsession. When they had bought the farm, the onething Anna had asked for was a rock wall along the

back edge with a break in the middle through whichthey could enter the woods. She had always been aromantic; it was one of the many things that endearedher to him. But while she was alive, Dan neglected tostart Annas rock wall. This fact sent him retreatingafter his wife died. And it was this that drove DanMuller to begin the rock wall after his wife passed

on.It was to Annas wall that Dan brought his son thismorning.Daniels feet sliced through the grass, long blades

brushing against his ankles, leaving faint traces of dew on his skin. The boys eyes refused to open allthe way as the black trees rose up in front of them,arcing over father and son like some macabre line of giants. Daniel shivered and tucked his arms tight intohis chest.

Okay. Big Dan stopped and turned, but Danielcouldnt make out his fathers face beneath the shadowsof the early morning.Its time you started helping out around here. Youll beoff to school next year, mollycoddled by that teacher,so you need to start learning how to be a man now or youll never have a chance. His fathers voice was stillsoft, afraid of waking the day. Despite that, the tonewas obvious.So, continued his father, Im going to have you helpme with this wall. Youre going to carry those rocksover here. And Ill set them where they need to go.Daniel looked up at his father and then over at the pileof large rocks.But began the boy.No. If you can spend the afternoon playing dolls,you can give me a morning moving rocks. Now get towork.

Daniels ngers were raw and bloody from the earlymorning labors. Hed been unable to lift any of therocks and had tried to roll them through the long grassto where his father waited. It had been strenuous work,and Daniel had found it near impossible.As the sun reached into the cool blue of the morningsky, Big Dan looked down at the boy, struggling tomove another rock from the pile, and told him to stop.Ive got work to do in the elds, and I dont have time

to baby-sit you. Moment I leave youd probably end uphurting yourself and then where would I be? We can get

back to this another day. His father walked off towardthe barn while Daniel slumped over the large rock,watching the big man slowly recede into the tall grass.Daniel knew then, he hated his father.

The next year Daniel started school, walking the twomiles into town each morning with his sister. Theywould leave earlyafter chores were done (milking the

cows, gathering eggs)and hope to catch a ride withone of the neighbors. Most days there was a wagon or a weathered pickup making its way along the windingdirt track.Throwing himself into his studies as soon as he began,Daniel was a star pupil. He grasped things quickly. Healso worked hard at his schooling. Not only would he

bring home his schoolbooks every night, but he also brought home other books from the shelves lining theclassroom.


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What are you doing? Daniels father crowded the bedroom door as he glared down at his son.Schoolwork, said Daniel.What about your chores?I wanted to get this done rst so thatWhat is wrong with you? Those books arent going tohelp you any. You need to work in the barn and help outwith the crops and the animals if you want to take thisfarm over some day. Now get downstairs before I haveto move you myself.Daniel was nine years old and nally losing his babyface, though he still retained his slight build. He staredat his father for a second and then slammed the book shut. Rolling off the bed, Daniel pushed past his father and stomped downstairs. Big Dan smiled and followedhis son down the wooden steps and out the back door.And make sure you take your chores serious! I dontneed us losin animals because you were lazy! hecalled as the boy slumped through the barn doors.Big Dan returned to the eld, harvesting tomatoes andsummer squash. This took him a few hours and carriedDan through to the suns nal dip behind the wall of

pine bordering his land.After hauling the vegetables to the cellar, Dan cameup through to the kitchen where Lisa was preparingsupper. Her father stepped over to the sink and pulleddown a ask from the upper cabinet. Taking a longhaul, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand andreplaced the empty ask in his pocket with this nowhalf-full one.Wheres your brother? he asked.I dont know, said Lisa, not looking up from thestove.Shouldnta taken this long to clean and feed themanimals. I better check on him. Big Dan pushed thescreen door open with a sad creak, sidestepping it asthe door slammed back into the house, bouncing off thedoor frame three times before settling.He pulled back both doors of the barn, allowing thedays waning light to enter. Walking up the dirt oor,the older man peered into each stall. Three-quarters of the way up, everything was ne. But as he reached thefar end of the barn, Dan Muller could see where his boyhad become indifferent. The cows had been fedhedat least done that much rightbut the stalls hadnt beenfully cleaned out. Big Dan could feel his face startingto burn, sweat beading on his forehead. Swearing under his breath, Big Dan turned and marched back into thedim evening.

Upstairs, Daniel was lost in another book. The boydid not hear his father approaching. Big Dans longstrides carried him into his sons bedroom. He didnteven consider slowing down as he lunged for the bedon the opposite side of the room. Daniel looked up,eyes widening just as his father reached him. The boyhad no time to react as his fathers bloated ngersenveloped one arm. He pitched Daniel over the sideof the bed onto the oor. Landing hard, the boy curledin on himself and tried to pull away from his fathersgrip, but Big Dan only shrugged his sons efforts off as he groped for the other arm. Daniel ailed aboutand evaded his dad momentarily, but the large manwas soon dragging Daniel across the rough wood

oor.In the hall, Big Dan shuf ed for better footing andthen started pulling his son toward the stairs. Oncethere, Dan Muller did not break stride. He yankedhis son down the wooden staircase, watching asthe boys head bounced off each individual step.Reaching the bottom, Dan dragged his son acrossthe oor, the boys head thumping the coffee tableout of place. Kicking the front door open, Big Danraked Daniels shoulders and back over the rise of thedoor frame, driving a large splinter into the soft eshabove Daniels collar bone. Knocking the boys bodyoff the screen door, Big Dan stepped off the porchand twisted, throwing his son into the packed earthoutside.Daniel rolled twice before landing in a heap. He triedto compose himself, couldnt stop the ground fromspinning.What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Dan Mullersvoice rasped as he stood, glaring hard at the nine-year-old.I dont know, stammered Daniel, unsure what heddone wrong.I can see that, fer Christs sake. I give you a simpletask and you cant even complete that. I dont get it.As smart as youre supposed to be, how is it youretoo dumb to nish one simple thing for me?Dad, I dont know what youre talking about.Daniel shuf ed back a few feet, trying to keep somedistance between the two of them as he watched therage build in his father.Didnt I ask you to clean out the stalls? All of them! And what do I nd in the barn? Dan looked at hisson accusingly, waiting for a response.Theyre not all done? Daniels voice cracked as hespoke.Thats right. And why is that? What the hell can


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you tell me that will convince me not to beat yousenseless?Daniel had nothing to say. His throat clenched aroundhis voice box as his stomach twisted into a knot.Well?I dont know what happened. I thought I nishedthem. I mustve forgot a couple.Jesus, you mustve forgot? Dan Mullers ears wentred as spit ew from his mouth. He came forwardwith a quickness Daniel was unprepared for andgrabbed his son by the ear, twisting hard as he liftedthe boy from the dirt. Leading Daniel by the ear, he

brought the nine-year-old to the barn and threw himdown just inside the doors, a cloud of dust kicking uparound him. Grabbing a pitchfork and bucket fromthe pegs beside the door, the older Muller threw themat his son where he lay.You nish this damn job, and you do it right. After that, well have a talk behind the shed. And whenyou get inside, no more books in your room. Are weclear?Yes, said Daniel, his voice barely audible.And dont think youll be getting away with thisagain. I nd you slacking off on your chores andshoving your head in a book another time, itll beworse. Keep that in mind while youre working, and

pay it particular mind for after we have our littlediscussion.Ill be out looking for a good-sized branch whileyoure nishing up in here. Dan Muller stalked off for the back woods.The next day, Daniel went to school with one eyealmost completely shut (it was so bruised it looked

black) and a large welt on the opposite cheek. Noneof the kids asked him what had happened. Most of them had encountered similar punishments in their own time, though not as extreme.A week later the swelling had receded, and it was likeit never happened. For everyone except Daniel.

One day a few months after Daniel turned eleven,things at home came into sharp focus for the boy.Hed come home from school and gone right to work in the barn. It was nearing the end of the term andthe day had been a particularly hot one. Daniels shirtwas sticking to him as he shoveled manure out of the

pens. He needed to keep brushing his hair back as the perspiration made it wilt, the drops of sweat stinginghis eyes.Daniel was halfway down the length of the barn when

he drove the spade into the dirt and decided to take a break. He needed a drink of water from the well, andhe gured it might be nice to peel off his shirt and get afresh one from the pile beside his bed.Stepping into the soft glow of the early evening sun,the boy peered into the elds, searching for his father.If Big Dan saw him heading to the house early hedwant an explanation, and even that might not forestalla beating. Shading his eyes, Daniel scanned the widegreen but saw no motion except the easy sway of thecornstalks from a cool breeze wandering in from thewest. Giving up, he made for the house.Winding through the kitchen, Daniel made his way

past the dining table into the main room of the house,heading for the stairs. As his foot hit the bottom step,he heard something like a dog whimpering. Turning,Daniels eyes stopped at the door to his fathers den.He walked over, rested his ear against the smooth grainand closed his eyes tight.Daniel could hear a soft cry from within. He also hearda muf ed voice, deep, but couldnt make out any of thewords. Reaching down, Daniel tried the doorknob. Itgave slightly but refused to budge.Daniel stepped away from the door. Before today, hehadnt understood the talks his father had with Lisa.All Daniel had known in his world was that his fathersire seemed reserved for him alone, while his older sister got away with everything.He put his ear back to the door. His sisters cries wererunning in time with a methodical knocking, like aconstant bass note hidden below the harmony. Bloodrushed from the boys face as Daniel felt a chill washover his back. He felt as if he might be sick and ran for the stairs. He didnt want to add to his list of choresand was even more scared of what his father might doif he found him standing outside the den. Tears cameunbidden as Daniel assaulted the steps two at a time,moving quickly to leave behind what hed just heard.

Daniel nished setting the table for supper and took his seat at one end, folding his hands in his lap, staringat the dirt beneath his nails. Lisa came through and seta large bowl of mashed potatoes in the middle of thetable. Daniel looked up as she turned for the kitchen,staring at the back of his sisters head. He followedher long blonde hair past the chopping block until shemoved out of sight.From behind, Daniel could hear his fathers heavyfootfalls announcing his presence for the eveningmeal. Daniel clenched his eyes shut, ghting to keep


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back tears. It was a number of seconds before the boyrealized he was holding his breath. He inhaled deeplyand let it out slowly before opening his eyes.Big Dan came around Daniels chair and squeezed hissons shoulder. Daniel glared up at his father, but theman didnt notice as he turned to take a seat at the headof the table.Whats for dinner, honey? bellowed Dan Muller.Roast chicken, potatoes and carrots on the side, and

bread, called Lisa. She stepped back into the roomand placed a bowl of carrots and a plate of warm breadon the table. Her father began heaping his plate with

potatoes as she returned to the kitchen.Man. We didnt eat this good with your mother.You got lucky, Daniel. His father didnt look up ashe spoke, intent on his food. All Daniel could do wasstare, bewilderment painting his face as he searched for something to say.Lisa, get that chicken in here, Im starving. Their father peered around the kitchen doorway as he droppeda second spoonful of carrots onto his plate.Coming, said Lisa as she returned, balancing thechicken on a serving platter. She set it down right infront of her father. It was his job to carve the bird, oneof the few things he did at dinner other than eat.Dan gazed at his daughter and then looked down thetable to Daniel. She does look as pretty as your mother though, he said with a large smile as he picked up thecarving knife.Daniel would recall little of what happened next.Lunging from his chair, he jumped onto the table,sending one of the candlesticks through the air.Banging his knees, Daniel half hopped, half crawled tothe other end of the table, clawing at the checked cloth

beneath him. The boy was screaming, a primal gurglethat roared through the small room. Daniel gripped theother candlestick and swung it at his father, knockingthe chicken to the oor. Daniel groped for his fathersface, his ngers discovering purchase in the folds of hisneck where he began to squeeze.Big Dan didnt understand what was happening andcouldnt think straight with his son bawling at him.As Daniel lurched from the table, he sent both of themclattering to the oor, the hard wooden back of thechair driving into his fathers shoulder blades.Knocking the wind out of the older Muller, Daniel

pulled his knees up closer to his fathers face and beganto press down hard on his throat. Big Dan glared at the

boy as he worked to regain his breath.Soon, the elder Muller wedged his arms beneathDaniels knees and pushed up with all his strength,

thrusting the boy off. Daniel toppled to one side, andsmashed his shoulder.He looked at his father and then at Lisa, who hadtears running down her cheeks. He got up and ran

past his father, driving through the kitchen door andoff the back stoop.Daniel kept running, past the barn and through the

elds. He thought he could hear his father laughingat him from far behind. But when he stopped past thelong rows of corn, Daniel realized it was only in hismind.Trying to catch his breath, Daniel saw that hedarrived at the stone wall. A full moon was high inthe eastern sky, shining down on the spot where heand his father had stopped earlier in the week. Ragewelled up in him, and Daniel started kicking the largestones along the top of the wall, toppling them over into the tall grass.You sick sonuvabitch! Daniel screamed to thedarkened forest as he attempted to destroy the wall.Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!The chinks fell at Daniels feet and he stomped onthem, trying to bury them or crush them into powder or both. Overcome with emotion, he had no controlas he pushed and heaved and kicked at the rocks,knocking over as many as he could before exhaustionsent him stumbling over the wall, banging his skullon one of the larger base stones.Daniel rubbed at the bump forming on his head andcried until he fell asleep beneath the stars.The next morning nothing was said about what hadhappened at dinner the previous night.This silence, particularly that of his sister, was worsethan anything Daniel could have expected.

The next year, in the middle of the rst session, DanMuller pulled his daughter out of school. He toldMiss Slate that Lisa was sick. A day or two later, Danloaded the wagon, and he and his daughter headednorth for the nearest train station.Daniel remained home to take care of the farm. MissSlate questioned him at school the next day. Danielknew that his father had taken Lisa to stay with acousin in Montana, but it was a relative Daniel hadnever met. As for an explanation of his sisters illness,Daniel hadnt been aware shed been feeling poorlyand was unable to share anything more.A week and a half later Big Dan returned, Lisa nowsettled ve states away. He said nothing to Danielabout the trip and refused to talk about Lisa whenever


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There are a couple of paintedboards around Mexicali if youknow where to look. But, if you want the real scoop, youneed to go to the PanaderaAzteca.

This bakery always has a lu-cha board out front listingthis weeks card. The bakeryis owned by one of the fea-tured luchadors, Black Aztec.Inside, the walls are coveredwith cutouts of newspaper andmagazine articles about BlackAztec. Everywhere you lookyoure surrounded by luchalibre. The women workingthere never have any answers for my questionsabout lucha libre.

Whenever we visit my wifes family in Mexica-li, we always make sure we catch a lucha show.There are two arenas that I know of in Mexicali.One runs shows on Saturday nights and the oth-er on Sundays. Both are in small gymnasiumswith the ring built in the center as a permanentfxture. Both arenas only hold a couple hundredfans and the bleacher you sit on is the foot rest


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Above. Rubi Gardenia is an exotico, a gaythemed wrestler. He kisses his opponents,kisses the ref, and runs into the audience,sitting on the lap of the burliest looking guys.Its a weird phenomenon. Machismo is aliveand well but the audience doesnt just laughat the exotico wrestlers, they also laugh withthem. The exoticos are teased and made funof for being so feminine, but in the end theyare applauded, for vanquishing their foes.


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Left. This is Inmortal. Herudo, but a serious one. He dnot goof off or make a fohimself. He is covered heatoe. My wife and I always Inmortals high ying and bhim to no end. The last

we were down in Mexicalmor had it that Inmortals bis covered in burned eshnearly burned to death in a When we watched him wrthat night, we could see some of the ngers on the tgloves he wore, bent backwThere were no ngers in the


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If necessity was the mother of invention, then surely boredom and desire were the fornicating parents of re-invention. That was his nal coherent thought as the

anaesthesia dragged his consciousness into the realmof nonsense.Re-invention was a lost art, there were no rock starsanymore. Nothing but Angels above and decay down

below. Broken toys that everyone stepped on, discardeddreams. The Angels brought with them proof of faithand there was no longer reason to dream or to wonder.A good life meant eternity in Heaven and a bad lifemeant Hell. Earth was but a stagnant Purgatory inwhich he was king. As long as he remained on his little

plot of dirt.

Not that he hadnt acquired quite a reputation. Far andwide when people heard of his city or of his name, theywould shudder, cringe, maybe even whimper or crossthemselves from their heads to their shoulders and thenkiss their dirty ngers.Suiting the cultural and sociological themes, many

began to regard him as a devil, or at least a demon under the devils wing. Those people missed the point, theydidnt listen. Anyone who truly followed his wordsknew that he served no one but himself and that he sawhimself as no demon but merely a mentor. He could

show the fallen and those jaded of faith the world of individualism. For a price.Everyone had to pay a price. Usually it was to work,to follow his words and instructions without question,something the formerly devout were used to doing.They would listen to his views of the world and actuallyspend a few moments thinking. Maybe he would caressthem, kiss the at of their scalps and offer to them histreasures which they would lick from his cold handslike puppies.

His followers would sit back, the salt from his palmstill sharp on their tongues and they would receiveinto their minds his visions. They would cluster

around him and follow like shadows and under pulsing, blinding lights they would dance and worshipthemselves, because he taught them that they werethe only things that really mattered.In a world of faith, those of his city were outcasts.He would target them, prey on their obtuse feelingsof worthlessness. He made them believe that heunderstood, that he cared. They became his children,his whores, his loaded guns.He was hardly discriminatory either, he accepted theheretics from all walks of life, male or female, old or

young, intelligent or stupid, able-bodied or lame, itmade no difference to him as long as they paid their dues.He had been at this for years, building his empireup from a one man army to an entire city and a fewhundred citizens. Charisma, thats how he pulledthem in, which was fortunate because he wasnt

particularly attractive. He was far too skinny, far toogaunt. Sometimes, after pushing the plunger a fewtoo many times, he would wonder what he would

be like after he got old. Would he be weak, a joke?

Would he reach his twilight years? Did it matter?Usually something shiny would icker in the corner of his eye and distract him, after which he wouldawaken a day and a half later on his oor and thenvomit out a stomach-full of blood.There was a price for everybody, even him. It was inthe image itself. There were no rock stars anymoreand so people were unaccustomed to being dazzledand in awe of a mere mortal with a fancy out t and athrusting pelvis or kicking legs. As a result it was so

RE -INVEN TIONBy Krista Q Di Fulvio


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easy to impress his followers in the beginning. Butfamiliarity breeds contempt, and so came the need for re-invention.The arm had to go anyway, it was practicallySwiss-cheese thanks to the needles, a purple and

bloody mess that went numb and dead more oftenthan it didnt. Lately he had resorted to stuf ngthe hand into the pocket of his blazer for support.Signs of weakness were cracks in the veneer, andif he cracked, they would all crack. At this point,amputation was at the same time the most merciful,

logical, and safest option.He had the best surgeon in the state on his pay roll aswell, which was a perk. Initially he was dubious of

being drugged into unconsciousness when not in thesafety of his bedroom. What was to keep the dear doctor from killing him and taking over the city?Wisely, his defenceless body was surrounded by his

personal body guards who were too stupid to act of their own accord.The rst thing he felt as he began to awaken was aterri c iciness, like his shoulder and its blade was

painted with liquid nitrogen. He groaned and openedhis eyes a sliver. The only light was from the moon,which ltered into the room through the glass of the window. He licked the roof of his mouth andswallowed, his mouth dry of any saliva. His throatached. He scrunched up his eyes tight before tryingto open them wider. He was so groggy. He foundthis intoxication unfamiliar and annoying. Sleep wasclawing at him but he refused. Instead he tried to lifthis impossibly heavy head but only managed to turnit to the side. The pillow was stiff against his cheek.

Lying next to him was his arm, silver, shining in themoonlight. Bionic bones were naked of esh anddelicate wires, too few to be thought of as veins or sinew, ran like gossamer threads against the metal.The hand itself looked like any other skinned hand

but instead of bone there was alloy, the ngers...The ngers were cruel and unfeeling. Silver dragonspines, stiff serpents with evil hooks. His mechanicalring nger twitched; it could move, he could move it.He thought move.

The ngers began to curl, the pointed tips, like claws,shredded the sheet just a little as it bunched under his new palm. He bent his hand at the wrist, clutched the ngerslightly and rotated it in a circle. He tightened his st.There was no pain; there was barely any sensation at all,

just a dull sense of extension, like trying to touch water on the other side of glass or losing an object because youforgot it was in your hand. He held his palm close to hisface and studied the almost unnoticeable texture on the

ngertips and surface of the palm. Finally he exed eachnger individually as if striking keys on a piano. Despite

his tired daze, he smirked.This new cybernetic device was better than he imaginedit would be, icy as death and dangerous as a spear. Itwas a new symbol of his power, his rule, something onlyhe possessed. There were no rock stars anymore buteven if there were, none of them would dare go to theseextremes for their fans.Would he miss his old hand? Perhaps, but it was asmall sacri ce to make. Everything came at a price andeveryone had to pay.

Especially him.


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z417 zhours z to z in f in i ty

The computer ized voice re i tera tes l ike a digi ta l tape reel . The Savior squints painful ly, b l inded by the columns of l ight around him. The craf t consis ted of four evenly spaced such columns, g lowing br ight ly enough to be mis taken for a s tar f romeven from tens of l ight years away. The Turiyans see i t as both a burning t ransparentorbi ta l anchor and a dis tant point of l ight . In thei r d imension everything is every -where a l l the t ime. A gigant ic e lect ron wobbles in and out of the s t ructure in a f igureeight pat tern cont inuously. The f loor matched the canopy: a f loat ing shel l of spacedust . A puls ing yel low-orange organ, osci l la t ing and dr ipping, c l ings to the dustshie ld . A vessel for t ime i tse l f . I t i s bulging and about to explode. Five escor ted him

through the gr id , thei r ref lect iveness so pure in the emptiness they seemed near lyinvis ible . One morphs a makeshif t oval head out of i t s e l f and turns i t to the Savior.[Mat ter a tomic-sub pure are we.] , i t shares . Micro t ime shif ts tweak any and a l lcommunicat ive pat terns . The craf t never corrects these , a resul t of environment ;soon i t wouldnt mat ter anyway. Elemental beings , consis tent to the core . Sent ientnon-l iv ing mat ter. Nothing could l ive in thei r neighborhood of the mul t i -dimensionaluniverse , l i fe requires t ime. They couldnt comprehend i t , even as much as they t r iedto . So they resor ted to th is .

T H E S AV I O R

O F T I M E by Dan Black


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z192 zhours z to z in f in i ty

You took me too soon. I wasnt able tohelp them achieve salvat ion. I wasntThe Gods sent me and I fa i led them,he folds his head into his hands. Whenhe arr ived the people couldnt even

pronounce his bir th name, so they dubbe d himoverman. He learned every languagesystem on the planet dur ing his descent ,and sermoned al l the cul tures of theworld s imul taneously. Im here to saveyou al l , reverberated into space. Sometwo-thousand years pr ior thei r t ime, not h is

the Savior sat under the Epist oal Gas Cloud,orbi t ing pat ient ly unt i l a new s tar was bi r thedout to him, a l l three res ted in harmoniousal ignment . Enl ightenment . The metal l ic

beings shif t to one long, th in beam,st re tching f rom the back end,underneath his crossed legs to poke outthe f ront . [Explain we wil l . Move tonot t ry and eyes your c lose . ] The craf t

begins to shake with enough fr ic t ionto spontaneously combust ; the lack of

oxygen helps . I t i s poking through theempty space to the next d imension over,i t feels l ike dying. A pure whi te , th in

passage s i t t ing between ver t ical andf la t universes . A f igure f loats off in thedis tance, reaching towards the craf t as they

pierce through the other s ide . This t ime i tfeels l ike being born again .

zWe zhave zreached z inf in i ty

Upon depar ture f rom universal l imbo, theSavior is in ternal ly los t . Even as a higher

being of his world , nothing could preparehim for th is p lace . Nothing could prepare

anyone. A shower of burning meteor i tesra in down upon him on the surface of aterra-formed moon whi le hesimul taneously s teps out of the ship in to a

sacred chamber; he quickly learns to block out the former. [ I fe l t that ] , one of theorbs te l ls h im, [you are learning a l ready.]The s l ippery and bloated organic vessel i s

p laced into a tabernacle of sor ts surrounded by digi ta l readouts . I can unders tand younow. Why can I unders tand you now?, theSavior is taken to a mirror-bal lseemingly l ike any of the others . I t zapsand blur ts out l ines of code and rota tessporadical ly. When i t s tops , i t speaks

slowly: [You are not able to achieve planetary sa lvat ion on your world because that i s not your purpose.You are sent to that d imension by theGods , yes . . . we are these Gods . Youare not thei r Messiah, you are ours . ]

Now an inf ini te number of them watchremotely in every corner of theuniverse . [You have managed to exis t on theother s ide and descend to us wi th the

Nuyri i containing t ime i tse l f . Through

i t and you we wil l f inal ly unders tand i t .Teach us , Messiah. ]


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Christopher M. Beckett has lived all his life inMaine. He works at his writing in the dark, onceeveryone else is in bed. You can see his other work,including the self-published anthology Warrior27, atwarrior27.com

Dan Black is a part-time writer and musician.He resides in St. Paul, Minnesota with his girlfriendLaura and cat Max. Dan has been published in variousoutlets such as Outside Writers and Weaponizer, invarious forms such as webzines and literary magazines.Dan is currently conceiving his rst attempt at a novel.His writing has been called elegiac, if not a little bitunhinged. My Blog: The Sonny Wilkins Chronicle.My Music: Mild Maynyrd on Bandcamp

Katie Cowden is a self taught photographer and painter living in Austin, Texas. Her day job is teaching preschool, which gives her lots of opportunity tocolor pictures of dinosaurs. In her spare time, shelikes drinking tea, watching bollywood movies and

playing in the creek. You can follow her artisticadventures on tumblr: http://krakatoakatie.tumblr.com/

Clay , fastidious and demure, lives in Menifee,Ca, philandering through the untamed drovesof feline corpora. He can be found replacing his

uids with spirits and documenting the past atlostjulycomics.com

Chris G. writes and illustrates SPACE SHARK andTEAM MUMMY. He resides in a dead-ass town onthe outskirts of downtown Los Angeles. One day hewill take life seriously, but until then he can be founddumping art at teammummy.com and chroniclingSpace Sharks life story in the making using the

power of the sequential arts at spacesharkcomic.com

Ben Gwalchmai : is a liar. Its what he does for fun andits what he admits to for truth. For more on that, go tohttp://bengwalchmai.wordpress.com

Emerson Murray became a hardcore wrestling fanwhen he saw that it was Cyndi Lauper approved inthe mid-80s. He has been painting and committingacts of photography since then as well. His biographyon professional wrestling legend, Bruiser Brody was

published in 2007. He enjoys a good suplex, bodyslams,and long walks on the beach.secretcinnamonsquad.com bruiserbrody.com

Steve Ormosi is a writer. Thats another way to sayunemployed layabout. Its also another way to saynerve wracked mental patient. When not writing,Steve enjoys TV, movies, books, murder, poker, andcandle lit dinners. Just kidding about the murder You can nd his work at: http://lifeafterdeath-comp.

blogspot.com/

Q is the letter Q who is a writer-slash-artist fromCanada. Her brain likes to play in dark places and sheruns on the warming comfort of tea. Do not tamper with... http://anarchicq.com

Ryan Thomason is an illustrator who works in linocuts as well as pen and ink. He lives in Edinburgh andcould de nitely get used to talking about himself in thethird person. He thinks you should spend some time attezoarillustration.com, its nice there.

C R E ATO R B I O S :


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