Black Petals Issue #95 Spring, 2021

Step Out
BP Editorial Page
BP Artist's Page
BP Guidelines
Mars-News, Views and Commentary
Blue Meet-Fiction by George Aitch
Dark Alleyways-Fiction by Adam Phillips
Iris' Vanity-Fiction by Tristan Miller
Scalp Cleanse-Fiction by Kajetan Kwiatkowski
The Muscus-Fiction by Alice Stone
The Wrong Place-Fiction by Ante Caleta
Things That Happen-Fiction by Guido Eekhaut
Tidal Horror-Fiction by Sal Braden
Two Martinis In-Fiction by Hillary Lyon
Vampire-Fiction by Gene Lass
Hypnic Jerk-Flash Fiction by Vismay Harani
Speed Dating-Flash Fiction by Alexander Condie
Step Out-Flash Fiction by Ed Nobody
The Packing Bay-Flash Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
Trophy Kill-Flash Fiction by Eddie D. Moore
Occupational Hazard-Flash Fiction by Doug Hawley
The Definition of Crash-Poems by Paul David Adkins
Ghost: A Working Definition-Poem by Carl E. Reed
Vampiric Threnody-Poem by Carl E. Reed
Leelanau Lake Monster-Poems by Richard Stevenson
Ballast-2 Poems by Angelo Letizia
Pit Bull-3 Poems by Pete Mladinic
Shadow of Sleep-Poem by Teresa Ann Frazee
Microcosmus-3 Poems by Daniel Snethen
The Higher Dimensions-Poem by David C. Kopaska- Merkel

Art by W. Jack Savage 2021

Step Out


Ed Nobody


She steps out her door down drive, crouched, ducking, red-spot tracing lines in the night here and gone—brief lethal signs spelling death. Laser hits eyes now nothing but spots she's seeing in the black empty night for eight, maybe ten seconds, time not hers to spare. But duck, anyway, down and crawl cross damp grass roll into ball and curl up behind fat tires, smell of gas, rubber and fear-drenaline stops the moment stretched second by century trapped between life and light, crimson, hot, burning through her head pounding with that rabbit-heart's beat—staring into the beam. Do something. 911? Yeah, hello, I'm about to have my head popped off by a tactical squad of highly-trained mercenaries hired by a high-profile genetics corp. from whom I stole a revolutionary DNA-upgrade device worth several billion in R&D alone...No, idiot, maybe tell them about the guy with a gun pointed at your head? What's a bunch of cops gonna do, coupla plain-clothes dopes against a whole squad: Target Practice. No. She's alone. But for the device—what the hell, gonna die anyway right? Brief red-flashing thoughts of boyfriend—no more dates at the pier, craft beers, holding hands on the strand, laughing at mariachi bands. No more looking in his eyes and seeing beautiful green. No more hearing I love you, teasing, you're mean, no life, no dreams—Wait! Regret takes too long. Whatever, here goes, rip off shirt, exposed (who needs clothes anyway), inject device, muscle spasm instantly, skin rippling flesh, bra falls off exposing chest, legs bulk out like hulk—red spot catching her bulging head—rapap bullets shot but plink falling down like ping-pong balls on the ground and she knows these mercs are about to get their asses pounded in by a girl.


Ed Nobody is a writer from Ireland who wants to write daring, engaging stories not restricted by traditional genre conventions. He has published several short stories in magazines such as Lovecraftiana, Strange Science Fiction Adventures, and The Horror Zine. He has two novellas under consideration and a novel in the works.

@EdIsNobody on Twitter.

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