One of the most unusual stories in the collection comes from Regina Jamison. I read it twice the moment I opened the file. The first time, I wasn’t sure what I read, but enjoyed the language. The second, I paid attention to the story. Both times, I was blown away. ~DD

Impundulu

by Regina Jamison

It was summer. I remember because I’d had the top down on the car. It was night and very dark in the woods. I wasn’t driving. I’d sat in the car with the stars laid out above me. The vastness of the dark sky along with the twinkling abundance soothed me. I’d felt connected, somehow, to that deep void filled with gaseous matter that encircled planets creating fictitious halos and black holes that captured and sucked in one’s soul. I felt as if my soul were an asteroid; floating, drifting in the darkness, searching for some force to bring it into the light. I wanted a celestial hand to caress me while spreading moon dust like salve upon my heart.

These were my thoughts when a bolt of lightning blazed in the field to the right of me. There was no sound, only a light so bright the air continued to glow after it had dissipated. I’d left my car and walked toward it. Before me there was what appeared to be millions of fireflies swarming a wide swatch of land. Or maybe it was pieces of burnt paper that resembled butterflies fluttering about on the wind. One half blackened and cold like a dead star, the other half a bright, warm, beautiful ember. I stood there watching and grew warmer. Sweat bubbled up on my brow. The tips of my hair glowed and rushed about my face. So much movement and heat. The fireflies swirled and swirled then settled, forming a shape like a flame above a wick; oval.

The egg-like shape sparkled and popped with anger. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I glanced at the space around me and when I looked back the egg was still there. I walked its circumference wanting to touch it. I’d felt as if something were calling me, wanting me to burn in its iridescence. But I shoved my hands into my pants pockets and stepped back, then back again. I’d found the safety of darkness. My knees trembled. My legs shook as the ground gave way around me. I’d bent over slightly for balance but my legs collapsed pitching me forward into the high grass. The rumbling continued as the ground shook and buckled around me.

With dirt on my chin I stood. I looked up, whipped around, and looked behind me. Nothing! No light. No fireflies. No glowing egg. I walked to where the egg had been and found a great hole. A path of crumbled dirt, like something had burrowed underground, stretched out from it and made its way toward the lake. I could have followed, but I ran back to my car, turned the key, and jettisoned into that black hole called night.

Regina Jamison enjoys writing fiction, erotica, and poetry. Her poetry has appeared in Clamour and more recently in Off the Rocks – a lgbt anthology. Her erotica can be found in Zane’s, Purple Panties. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing at City College in New York.