Due to the impending wedding (and the three jobs he’s working to pay for it) of its founder, CEO and only employee, New Poe is taking a temporary break from reading and publishing submissions.
It will return better than ever later this year - if you’re interested in finding out when that happens, be sure to like the facebook page, follow the Twitter feed or subscribe with RSS.
Jack: “Thanks for a great year, writers and readers both. Your patience is appreciated.”
The average human can only hold their breath for 1 minute. I can’t remember when or where I found this out, but the words bounced through my mind as my lungs began to burn and my head started to feel numb.
Why is this happening? I thought. The attacker kept dragging me deeper and deeper into the pool at the luxury high-rise apartment block, his hands around my waist.
I turned my throbbing head and scrutinized his firm hold, unable to find any reprieve. I lashed out with my elbows, writhing and wriggling as his hand clasped around my neck.
My name is Sarah Edgar I’m only 14 years old so i do not have a website but i will be soon.
I dream of meeting celebrities and falling into deep love, but i am just some girl in this huge world.
I dream of meeting my prince charming, only to know a cannot be with him.
I dream of him being tall, blonde, and beautiful. With a contour no other man has. With not to blue eyes and a smile that could lighten up my world. With a heart of a lion, but also a kind and considerate one too.
by Rachel B
“Goddamn it, Nolan, what the hell was that?!”
Nolan McMillan sighs from the front seat. He know he owes his best friend, Brent Wright, an explanation for what he’s just done and hell, Brent deserves one. But he can’t come up with one, so he just sighs and says, “Nothing. That was absolutely nothing.”
“Nolan, you just shot a guy, execution style. You can’t call that nothing.”
“You know, you’re absolutely right. It was less that nothing.” The old Altima rolls to a slow stop at the approaching red light. Nolan drums his fingers on the steering wheel and looks in the rearview mirror. He sees nothing but Brent in the back seat, chewing on his cuticles. Nervous tick, Nolan figures.
“How long’s it gonna be ‘till someone calls the police?” Brent turns around, looking out the back window. “There’s no way nobody heard that. It’s a matter of time until someone-”
“Brent, taking a fuckin’ pill, would you?! Jesus.” Nolan sighs, pressing the gas pedal a little too hard as the light turns red. His brain momentarily flashes to the pack of cigarettes in the glove box. The pack is one of the many he’s stolen from his dad over the years, and only contains about seven cancer sticks.
I didn’t know what to expect when I walked into the pub. In my line of work, one day people are shooting at you, the next you’re taking a crime boss’ daughter to the prom. I wish the ladder happened more than the shooting.
The cracked vinyl seats were covered in grime, the table-tops hadn’t been wiped in a decade, and there was black muck growing out of the ashtrays.
A bell chimed as I closed the door, shutting out fresh air and sunlight. The pub looked even creepier in the dark.
A woman appeared from the back. She might have only been in her twenties, but years of selling her body to pay for a drug problem had robbed her of her youth. She eyed me with hollow eyes and hissed, ‘Whadaya wan?’
She looked over the edge and took a deep breath. It had been ages since she’d tried this. Did she even remember how? She thought she did. It couldn’t be that hard, stepping forward, bending the knees, and pushing off into the air… it was just one tiny jump, wasn’t it?
It didn’t even seem that high that she’d be jumping from. She just needed to do it. She didn’t even need a running start or anything. She took a deep breath and teetered back and forth on her feet for a moment. Why was she so nervous? It was just a little jump. She tucked her hair back behind her ear, shifted her weight one last time, bent her knees,
She screamed for a moment, the sensation of voluntary falling lost on her as the fear and the thrill set in. She closed her eyes tight and brought her knees up towards her chest. She was in the final stages of the fall now. Her hair flying out above her.
The previously placid river water splashed everywhere as she collided with it, her entire body submerged in the cold water, shocking all of her senses alive. She surfaced, gasping for air, a triumphant smile on her face. “That was totally wicked!” she yelled to no one in particular.
what is this, phantom limb
to be found.
to think you’re still in my life
thinking you know me,
when you didn’t take a second of time
to discover a single thing,
beside the fact i can rhyme terribly sometimes.
The pain lay just on the edge of sufferable and overpowering, she would later tell me. Sweat dripped from her hair and skin, and blood-mixed-with-water covered parts of the floor. I stood completely helpless and insufficient behind a pane of glass, only watching.
The complications had begun 10 hours in when she started to lose what the doctors said was “too much blood.” It seemed like an understatement.
I was rushed out and told to wait outside. I’ve never been good at waiting. Like most things in life it was good thing and a bad thing that Amelia forced me to quit smoking as soon as she became pregnant. Good because we both needed to keep our health with a baby on the way, but also because standing outside that hospital room waiting to hear what was going on with my baby and my baby I would have exhausted through a pack-and-a-half.
Bad because I really needed a cigarette.
5 days from now i’ll meet and fall in love with the woman of my dreams.
She will be walking in the same general direction I am, she’ll look back at me and stumble a little bit and drop something she is holding. I’ll rush up to help her pick it up, her hand will touch my hand, we’ll exchange looks and we’ll both stand. She’ll say thank you and walk off, I will still be standing there in awe.
She runs to get on the bus.
I have trouble with friends who want to know what happened.
And no, I’m not missing the forest for the trees -
The genus, size and shape,
even when the author cares enough,
will escape me later, become a forgotten shadow
at the edge of the moors.
by Shea Garner (athoughtorganic.tumblr.com)
The air curled his nostrils as he made his was through the smoke-filled room. A couple on the couch sat silently. The boy was on his phone as she sipped a glass filled with something less quaint than it appeared. He shifted his focus from the stagnant duo and moved towards the table. Around it sat a few of his friends and acquaintances. The cheap light fixture above them cast an orange glow on their young faces. He took a drag of his cigarette and focused on the music engulfing the room. His phone vibrated.
Exiting to the bathroom to avoid hungry eyes, he tripped over a pair of shoes. The laces were worn and stained but the black leather was fresh and wet from the snow outside. Pushing them aside with his feet, he continued down the hall. Closing the bathroom door, he leaned against the mirror before picking up his phone. This was important. Almost impulsively, he turned around and faced himself in the mirror. His eyes sunk into his head as he pulled his chin up. The light above the mirror reflected on the pseudo-porcelain of the dirty shower and stung his eyes. Squinting, he put his phone into his pocket and inhaled before heading back to the inane chatter occurring in the common room.
An hour passed before the group trickled out of the apartment door and descended the stairwell into the empty street. Intoxicated cries echoed off of the brick housing compounds as they made their way to the bus stop. The bus exhaled as it opened its doors to the youth. He climbed the small set of stairs and greeted the frail driver before finding his seat. Anticipation was building amongst the passengers as they discussed the probabilities of the night ahead. Partially listening, he pressed his cheek against the damp window and absorbed the passing headlights.
The unhooked clasp on his helmet showed that he wore it just to make his mom happy, it said that he wore it for that reason only, that he’ll wear it, but he won’t be happy about it. Because deep down he didn’t see the point. He didn’t care, it was as simple as that. Maybe he thought there was no way he would die, not today, not him. He could fall, yeah, he knew that, but then again he couldn’t. He rarely got away with not wearing the helmet though, she would watch him leave, stand in the window, wave and set those wide eyes on him as if she thought this was the last time she’ll ever see him.
Every time, every time he stepped a foot out the door.
And he would smile and wave too, just to show her that he’ll be back. Reassure her that he was fine and he would come home and see her again.
And when he rode out of her sight, he kept the helmet on, because he might as well just keep it on his head so he didn’t have to hold it. Sure he could set it somewhere and come back and get it, but that was just another thing he didn’t care about. Why go through all that trouble?
by Tansy Gardam
So this is what it feels like to be truly alone.
I should probably savour the few minutes I have left, feeling some sort of pride, or satisfaction that I had outlasted the rest.
Instead, it’s only grief.
I hadn’t known Jordan well, but in the last few days we’d spend together, almost certain that we were the last people left, I felt like I knew every thought he had – probably because I shared each one. It was sad to see him go. I’d almost felt a tear welling up in throat, but I’d cried all I had when Phoebe died. Seeing the last bit of life seep out of her eleven year old body had been too much. I swore that nothing could be worse than that.
Except maybe this.
December 25th 2011
Today, because I couldn’t fall asleep, I woke up early and decided to write my last entry before giving you up. I don’t know what will happen in our meeting. I don’t know if you will answer my questions or if you will even show up. I haven’t seen you since that day at the mall. I wonder what we will talk about… I wonder what will happen. Will you ask for me back? Or will you let me go? Will I even go? I don’t even know anymore. I think you know who I am marrying…. don’t you?
She rubs at her eyes, precisely the colour of her black tea. Bent almost double at a laptop screen, she leans an angular face on her smooth hand. Her hair hangs like night-time icicles from smooth rock-face; jagged, dark and lovely.