Dream?

The doctor looked at me through his eyeglasses that sat perfectly on the rim of his nose.

“In your dream, you said a spirit you didn’t recognize handed you a feather.”

“Yes, but the figure was only a cloudy shape of a person.”

“What do you suppose the feather represents, Charlie?”

“My father used to train pigeons before he died in the car accident. Maybe that?”

“Possibly. Time to stop. We’ll continue this next week.”

When I arrived home, I felt something in my pants pocket. I reached in and my eyes widened. It was the feather from my dream.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Shadow Of A Doubt

Matthew had always been steadfast in his faith. What appealed to him most about God was the need to believe, as opposed to some sort of certainty born of evidence or innate awareness. The fact that we were blessed with the choice and allowed to entertain doubt was the beauty of existence.

Now, as he felt his life slipping away, Matthew found that his conviction in God was stronger than ever. He had no fear of what was to come, because he was completely at peace and ready to meet his maker.

Except what if he was wrong? Oh shit...

Prose Vs Poetry

I watched a sentence emerge the other day at the end of a series of ambivalent decisions. The pressure of decision-making, the tense inner conversation writers conduct when writing, may be more felt than conscious, but it is nonetheless real. Even as I am writing these very words I am debating with myself whether these are the very words I should be writing. Decisions don’t make themselves. Do I use a dash here – or nothing? And what about an adjective for color or to add nuance? One misplaced brick can bring the whole thing down. Poetry flourishes on the ruins.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is a professor emeritus at SUNY New Paltz whose newest poetry book, The Dark, is available from Sacred Parasite, a Berlin-based publisher.

Rain

After evensong, her steps are soft on the stairs, and I will denounce these risers with their dips in the middle; it’s been centuries; couldn’t they be repaired now, o ye archbishops? Through the light-coloured thin-glass panes, I can see the skies darkening: how am I supposed to get her home in a storm, my newly blind friend with her damnable tumour? We will be like those lost old farts in the wilderness. My friend shifts her foot towards a stair, seeking. Let the rain fall gently on us, I think; let it fall like a hymn sung in evening.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

Here I Am

"Where's Jim? He's late."

"Typical. He's so selfish."

"No kidding. Sometimes I wonder why we let him hang out with us. The only thing worse than his manners is that stupid expression he always has on his stupid face."

"Harsh. Besides, there's a very good reason you're always kissing his ass."

"Whatever. I don't care about his money."

"Then why do you let him pay for everything?"

"That's the tax for having to put up with his painful desperation.

"Let's order. I'm tired of waiting. He can pay when gets here."

"Here I am."

Jim was not late after all.

Dare To Taste

“Ewwww...what’s that sickening smell?”

“You wouldn’t want to know,” Jack insisted. “Can you walk faster?”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to be stopped by she who lives there,” pointed Jack.

It could’ve been dried autumn leaves rustling in the wind, but they didn’t want to take a chance by looking back. They scurried past her unkempt lawn, not noticing the silhouette of someone sitting on the front porch.

“You boys hungry? Stew’s almost ready,” a woman’s voice shrieked.

The friends pretended not to hear.

“Rumour has it that she had four husbands,” Jack murmured. “No one has seen even one.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Difficult Patient

The hearing aid specialist, Linda, clasped her hands against her cheeks.

“Mrs. Marconi, for months now I’ve shown you how to insert the hearing aids. If you're having difficulty, we need another impression to order a new pair.”

Mrs. Marconi shifted in her seat. “No, I hear fine with these.”

Linda explained that if she’s not satisfied, then she needs to rethink her choice.

Mrs. Marconi thanked Linda and walked out.

Linda rolled her eyes and dreaded the thought of her next appointment with her.

She noted in her calendar to call in sick the day of Mrs. Marconi’s appointment.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Population Statistics

There are 7 billion people in the world and 7 billion rats. Both are social creatures, although people refuse to socialize with rats. The sight of a rat – at a wedding reception or restaurant, for example – upsets humans. But how about rats?...

“Rattus, did you know there are 7 billion people?”

“What?”

Two rats – Frank and Rattus – discussed the situation in an alley with overturned trash cans.

“7 billion.”

“You mean, as many as rats, Frank?”

“What'd you think of that, Rattus?”

“Look at the world, and some of those weddings and restaurants...I'm sorry to hear it, Frank.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Snitch

Here’s my dilemma.

I’ve learned Roger is having an affair with a woman from work.

What?!

I saw them kissing outside a hotel downtown. I confronted him later and he admitted it, reluctantly.

Should I tell Audrey?

I assume she’ll be upset, though maybe she already suspects his infidelity.

I care about them both, but, as you know, Roger’s been a jerk to me since getting married.

Plus, I’ve had a crush on Audrey since high school.

So, you’re asking if you should snitch on your brother so you can get with your sister-in-law?

I am ... she deserves better!

From Guest Contributor Bob Gielow

A college administrator by day, Bob (he/him) spins tales in formats we all use when communicating with each other: text messages, emails, fictional Wikipedia posts, and diary entries all allow him to be clinical and thorough in describing his characters, their thinking and actions...without diminishing his ability to explore the resulting human emotions.

Deep Shag

"Barry, is your homework finished?"

Barry started awake. His mom's muffled shout sounded a million miles away. His bedroom lay in total darkness.

He felt for his phone, but immediately encountered large woolly tendrils draped all around him. The only sensible explanation for the complete lack of light and the suffocating fabric was he'd been sleepwalking again and was nestled away in his closet.

Panic set in as he thrashed about searching for the door. He felt like he was drowning in an endless kelp forest.

It would be hours before he realized he'd been completely swallowed by his carpet.