555 Vol. 2

<p>I probably deserved it when the pyramid of sweaty cheerleaders toppled upon me crushing my rib-cage in a flurry of bone and scrunchies and tartan up-skirts—so many plastic pompoms pummeling my face and crushing my throat from the weight—a mass of perky prettiness screaming in that way that is sort of still cheering.</p><p>—<em>Michael A. Arnzen “Cheerleader Pyramid Accident”</em></p><p> </p><p><strong>The 555-story sequel that no one asked for!</strong></p><p> </p><p>From award-winning horror junkies to up-and-coming bizarro masterminds experimental gurus to old school Weird fictioneers this anthology series continues to bring the best that flash fiction has to offer.</p><p> </p><p>The fog is red like an exit light. It tastes like dry ice and rotting things.</p><p>The winds blow it toward you. It howls into your body knocks you down carries blackened detritus into the yawning sky. Stoplights tip from concrete cradles clamor to the ground.</p><p>It could be beautiful but it just fucking isn’t.</p><p><em>—Tiffany Morris “Gusts On Mammoth Mountain”</em></p>