Jim Gaines

The Lighthouse on Bloody Shoals

By Alphonse Daudet

Translated by James F. Gaines

            Last night I couldn’t sleep.  The north wind was angry and the bellows of its great voice kept me awake until dawn.  Roughly swinging its worn-out vanes that whistled in the breeze like the rigging of a ship, my old mill creaked all over.  Tiles from the roof crazily flew off.  In the distance, the clustered pines that covered the hillside waved around and rustled in the dark.  You would have thought you were on the high seas…

It reminded me perfectly of the persistent insomnia I had experienced three years earlier, when I lived at the lighthouse on Bloody Shoals, down on the Corsican coast, at the mouth of the Gulf of Ajaccio.

Another pretty spot that I had found to dream in and to be alone. (more…)

Guest Author Alex Knight

“Are you really going to meet him?” Monica was afraid her friend was in for a world of hurt, again.

“Of course, it’s what I’ve been hoping for.” Lisa was beaming.

“But how do you know it isn’t just a booty call because he’s horny again? Remember what happened last time?”

“I remember, but you should have heard him on the phone. He didn’t give me a chance to say or ask anything. A cabin is booked; he’ll be there waiting. If he is just jerking me around he’ll be sorry.” It was an unfortunate choice of words that would come back to haunt her. (more…)

Todd Messegee is a professor at Northern Virginia Community College.

Our house at the beach was a survivor. Twelve hurricanes had accosted the shore in the previous twenty years leaving parts of the island in shambles or worse. Through it all, our wooden lady stood strong. So, when the November winds had kicked up again I thought nothing of it. The storm would come, no doubt, to batter our windows. The sea would rise and smash against the deep-set posts that our house was built upon, but a survivor is a survivor for a reason. Our house was well made and all who saw her ride out these storms in the past knew that she would stand the test again.

The storm came at night, after the children had gone to bed. The warnings had gone out days before but the hurricane siren that would blast us from our sleep through even the most vicious gale had not blown. If that siren blew we knew it was time to flee. Mandatory evacuations were rare, but they did happen. People had left the island, that’s true, but we saw no need to pull up stakes. It was just supposed to be another storm. (more…)

Guest Author Alex Knight

The Rendezvous

by Alex Knight

I thought about your lips on mine

And how I used to enjoy our rendezvous

We knew how wrong it was

How right it seemed

(more…)

Guest Poet Candice James

SEEING THROUGH

© Candice James, Poet Laureate

Everything that isn’t,

Is…

Only when it isn’t.

(more…)

Guest Author Andy Kirk

The trees at the edge of the lake sway in the gentle breeze, and the bloated, yellow moon that rises from behind seems to be almost taunting me as it silently signifies that yet another month has passed. Once again, it is time.

It always starts the same way: the hot flushes producing a light sheen of moisture; the strange tingling sensation that spreads across my skin, which in turn causes every hair on my body to stand on end. Then I know the transformation has begun.

I can feel my heart pulsate; gently at first, but soon pounding, sending the blood surging around my body until finally it feels as though it will explode at any minute.

My skin suddenly feels as though lava is running beneath it, and then the muscle cramps begin; sudden spasmodic contractions of excruciating pain that flow through my body for several long minutes. And just as the spasms start to subside, there comes another, new, even more intense pain that tears down my spine. I feel every vertebrae stretching and shifting, my back snapping in two as it arches over and moulds into its final position. I cry out in agony. (more…)