Person To Notify

"Have I reached Frieda Grompkin?"

"Yes." Frieda did not recognize the voice nor number on her phone.

"I'm calling from the hospital. It's about Ed."

"Ed?" She hadn't seen her ex-husband in 6 years. "What?"

"You're listed as the person to notify. He needs emergency surgery after the accident."

There was some mistake in the record. Why was she listed?

"Tell him he's overdue on his last three alimony payments." It was best not to say, "Tell that bum…"

"He may not make it."

No more payments? But, no more Ed?

"Oh. In that case, thank you for the call."

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Regular Occurrence

The sky is clear, but not for long as bomber planes are approaching. As the blaring alarm sounds, Esme heads to the basement with the other tenants. Sadly, no one looks frightened as it’s a regular occurrence.

Bundled, but still cold, Esme and the other people sing to pass the time while others close their eyes or read.

Hours pass and finally they get the okay to go home.

Her apartment is unharmed, but a few blocks away buildings have been destroyed.

She closes her eyes and prays she makes it out of the war to see her family again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

A Frank Conversation Following An Epistolary Courtship

How will you tell people we met? she asks.

I’ll say I’m a quantum anthropologist from a parallel reality who built a machine to peer beyond dimensional walls. That I spent years studying myriad earths twitching across infinite frequencies until, one day, I saw you through my viewfinder. Yes, I knew crossing the trans-dimensional bridge would buckle my reality’s foundations. I didn’t care. I’ll warn everyone, my love for you doomed a universe.

And you? he asks.

She shifts. Her shackles jingle. The guard clears his throat. The truth. I took first at the International Sasquatch Rodeo. You were runner-up.

From Guest Contributor Keith J. Powell

Keith is co-founder of Your Impossible Voice. Find more of his writing at www.keithjpowell.com.

Honeymoon At Home

The cats prefer to keep their secrets or their distance. Never both. But Darling even looks different, like a Saturday morning Sylvester. The first time it happened, I asked my husband if he wanted some blueberry cake. He didn’t hear me, but Darling said, “Muah, I do.” He winked. He answered me from then on, but never in front of my husband. I began to come up with questions just to hear him talk. “What’s your favorite pie?” “Do you enjoy having a tail?” “Do you love me?” My husband planned a second honeymoon. Darling and I watched him pack.

From Guest Contributor Luanne CastleLuanne’s recent fiction can be found in Bending Genres, The Dribble Drabble Review, Does It Have Pockets, South 85 Journal, and The Ekphrastic Review. She has written several award-winning poetry books.

Losers

It was the last inning in an adult softball playoff game. We were behind by two runs. I had gotten a walk, which filled the bases. The next batter could tie or win the game. The manager replaced two of us with pinch runners, which caused our second and third outs for batting out of order. Many people thought that I was a good runner. Pinch runners were supposed to be used for the injured. I had objected to being subbed out, and this time it ensured our loss. I didn’t say it out loud, but I quit softball then.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Pirate Tale

Aright, there I was reading a pirate book in bed, when a portal opened and swiped me into a different realm of sorts. It took the whole bed and me cup of rum. Sailing into the seven oceans blue making me wonder what was true. Thus I pondered and wondered about reality as I continued to read my pirate book. Were there just seven seas or oceans in the realm of reality I was in,at which point a pirate spoke to me, making me wonder what was in my rum. To live free is a dream. Dying an end.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Symbiotes

When she saved me from the Caligulan Brain Fever outbreak, I stopped seeing my NUR-5E unit as just a fussy nuisance. Fascinated, I threw myself into learning coding and robotics, and now she’ll never be touched by anyone else.

We look after each other, you see: she keeps me alive, and with my skills I upgrade her, and deal with any viruses or mechanical issues. I’ve outlived all the ‘friends’ who called me mad, and she is decades past her notional service life. We’ll never stop.

“I love you,” I say. “I will always care for you,” she replies. “Forever.”

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training and a translator by trade. His published flash fiction (and social links) can be found here.

Spooky Halloween

Rob dons his skeleton mask and goes out the front door to his car.

The trick or treaters fill the streets with laughter, while parents keep a watchful eye on them. Rob slowly drives through the crowds as the night sky darkens the roads and he struggles to see, not wanting to remove his mask.

Finally, he arrives.

In the back seat, Rob pulls a lifelike toy out from underneath a blanket.

His friend Tim is going to get the best spooky Halloween prank of his life.

Inside Tim has a water bucket hanging over the door waiting for Rob.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Lilith Bird

He was tempted by her cardinal blouson and red pout, by the slippy-strap escaping down her arm, showing she was a little disheveled. She was unadorned, but her fangs flickered gold in the glow of candles and broken mirrors. He imagined the impossible, undressing her in his world, how he would unravel in her beautiful feathers. But he knew her kind, how she could only take and not be taken. She would ravish him in a few ecstatic moments and leave his husk in a heap of satin sheets, while she licked the last drops of blood from her claws. From Guest Contributor Lorette C. Luzajic

Lorette reads, writes, publishes, edits, and teaches small fictions. Her work has appeared in hundreds of journals and a dozen anthologies. She was selected for Best Small Fictions 2023. She has been nominated several times for Best Microfictions, Best of the Net, and the Pushcart Prize, and shortlisted for Bath Flash Fiction and The Lascaux Review flash prizes. Her collections of small fictions are The Rope Artist, The Neon Rosary, Pretty Time Machine and Winter in June. A collection of her work has also been translated into Urdu by Saad Ali. Lorette is the founding editor of The Ekphrastic Review, a journal of literature inspired by art. Lorette is also an award-winning mixed media artist, with collectors in more than 40 countries so far.

Wishful Thinking

As the Strawberry moon sets on the peak the sky shines bright like a diamond ready for its new owner. Spring weather in the Springs is springing but the cool breeze feels good on our cocoa butter infused skin. Your eyes bright like a newborn showing off their first smile and your touch soft yet warm like Vicuña. The record player sings the soft sweet sounds of “The Sweetest Taboo” with our feet's glued to the floor with no care in the world. Nights like this are longed for with breathtaking experiences, never ending memories but nothing like wishful thinking. From Guest Contributor Renee' Battle

Renee' is a student studying broadcasting and legal studies at Pikes Peak State College.