Black Petals Issue #82 Winter, 2018

Mars-News, Views and Commentary
A Nowhere Friend-Fiction by Roy Dorman
Broken Image-Fiction by Andrew Newall
Monster-Fiction by Paloma Palacios
Salvation_Fiction by Scott Dixon, Featured Author
Scream-Fiction by Anthony ('Tony') Lukas
Surviving Montezuma-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist, Chapters 13 & 14
The Foundling-Fiction by Roy Dorman
The Girl Who Isn't Talked About-Fiction by James Gallagher
Beggar's Curse-Poem by Alexis Child
Marco-Three poems from Christopher Hivner
In Line at the Terminal-Four poems by Michael Keshigian
Ghost Poets-Four Poems by Jerry McGinley
Killer Clowns-Four Cryptid Poems by Richard Stevenson




By Tony Lukas


Letting loose

       They had followed him into the passageway and now had him cornered in a bend in the alley. They smirked and ridiculed him, predators confident that they had treed their prey. 

        He only half listened to them, what they were saying being really nothing he hadn’t heard before in one form or another. He stood with his back pressed against the alley wall, wishing to somehow just pass through it and flee.

His fear was nothing new to him. He had been afraid all his life, crippled by shyness, intimidated by just about everyone from store clerks to school bullies, from telemarketers to the type A personalities at his jobs, from a stern father to insurance salesmen. He’d always resolved after each incident of being cowed or taken advantage of to do better, to stand up and not be manipulated and shoved around. But he never did, at work or anywhere. He always caved and hated them and himself for it.

       And here it all was manifest in two smirking punks, all the crap he had swallowed his whole life personified in a pair worthless, arrogant nothings. He stared at their mocking faces and felt his lifetime of frustration and fear and the rage...rage...rage boiling inside him.

        It started deep within, a pounding in his very core, then rose as a growl deep in his throat; his mouth opened and vomited out a wail that rose to a howl that smashed into the alley walls and pounded the air. He screamed and screamed, his arms rigid, his hands claws, his whole body emptying out the years of abuse and humiliation in a scream that would not stop. The fetid air of the alley pulsed with it, the waves roaring out from him and slamming into the punks and shoving them back and back and back, pounding them down to the filthy pavement, their bodies contorting as their bones snapped and blood gushed from their gasping mouths.

       He heard none of that over the anguished wail that was still pouring from him, until it slowly weakened, trailing off to nothing as he sagged against the alley wall, spent, empty, now hearing only his own quiet sobs and what sounded like the bubbling mewing of a dying cat coming from down the alley.


The End



Tony Lukas,, of Petaluma, California, who wrote BP #82’s “Scream” (+ BP #77’s “Smith’s Emporium”), is a retired attorney and chocolatier, now spending time working t-time in a national park and writing a story or two. He has previously been published in,, and Yellow Mama.

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