“Counting Backwards” by Caroline Bock

10. If you can count backwards from 10, you are not drunk . . .

“Music Capital of the World” by Joe Canzano

So Johnny Fizz was dead and now it was my problem.

Not because I was some hotshot Austin cop working the 6th Street district, wrestling with drunken punks the way Stevie Ray had wrestled with that fire-breathing Strat. No, it was my problem because I’d played in a band with Johnny for years, and I knew at least a hundred people who wanted to see him with his head blown off . . .

“MegaBlast” by R.K. Solomon

I’m not a complete monster. It pains me to hear her beg for her life. She says she’s got two kids. Little kids. A boy and a girl. Maybe she does. Maybe not. People will say anything in these situations. I wish she’d shut up. This is hard enough without the hysterics . . .

“Undone” by Michelle Sacks

It was full of backpackers, Udaipur: dreadlocked, slightly malodorous waifs and strays from the Western world, decked out in worn sandals and ill-fitting local garb, gathered from their travels around Asia . . .

“The Eternally Lit” by Joseph G. Peterson

You had seen once long ago when you were an eighth grader the JFK Eternal Flame at Arlington National Cemetery and you marveled at the idea that a flame might flicker eternally . . .

“The Night of DeLyria” by Marcelle Thiébaux

The night before Christmas 1937, the taxi dancer calling herself DeLyria was murdered in the bath of a luxury, park-view apartment . . .

“No Doors” by Lisa Martens

When I was eight years old, I was diagnosed with epilepsy. The Dallas school district saw I was brown, so they stuck me in ESL classes with the other brown children.

The actual problem was that I was having over a hundred minor seizures per day . . .

“The Treasure Chest” by Sofia Quintero

Giselle slid in her green contact lenses before slipping out the back door and tottering in her stilettos across the parking lot to Chief’s car. When she opened the passenger door, she was greeted with the smoke of his nasty cigarette and a bouquet of blue hydrangeas. “For me?” She picked them up off the seat, eased into their place, and leaned over to plant a kiss on Chief’s cheek . . .