Super

You’d probably call it spying, but how else to know when I should come? Sounds are a bit muffled after all this time. My body feels battered; too many buildings leapt at a single bound wreaked havoc on my joints. I’m not as fast either, for speeding bullets whiz by me, and this famous cape I still wear drags in the wind. Lois passed years ago, and where is Lex? Running some nursing home into the ground; I’ve no doubt. Yes, I fly lower and peer through your windows. I need you all now, more than you ever needed me.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

Housekeeper

The rain pelts my umbrella, so I make haste to avoid getting drenched before my housekeeper interview. The last home I cleaned I left because there had been too much friction between the husband and wife. I didn’t want to be in the middle, so I quit. When I came across a post online of a wealthy couple looking for a house cleaner, I applied. It’s in an upscale neighborhood and I have a good feeling.

I ring the doorbell and a man answers. In the distance I hear a loud crash, and his face turns wan.

I walk away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Paul Revere

"One if by land, two if by sea." Paul Revere finished typing the phrase--destined to be famous--into his cell phone and hit send. His job was done. It would now be up to his fellow revolutionaries to spread the word of the impending invasion and prepare for the British arrival in Concord. Whichever route they chose, the Americans would be ready.

Revere was free to relax and enjoy his fruity umbrella drink next to the pool. He reflected on how when historians wrote about his story many decades from now, they'd almost certainly get many of the incidental details wrong.

Ascent

I turn aside before Everest’s summit. Hobbling to a low drift, I scoop away the snow. I have found her, still lying where she had collapsed on her fateful ascent years ago. I peel off her goggles. She stares at the cobalt sky, as if daydreaming. Her ivory skin remains unspoilt, despite the passage of time.

Laying down beside her, I unclip my mask and gasp in the thin air.

My heart pummels my ribs while I remove our gloves.

I wrap my wife’s stiff hand in mine and gaze up at the heavens, waiting to see what she sees.

From Guest Contributor Christopher Mattravers-Taylor

Chistopher has been shortlisted in the Summer 2023 and Autumn 2024 Voice.Club Competitions and longlisted in Periscope Literary’s 2023 short story competition. He was also a finalist in Globe Soup’s October and November 2024 100-word competition. His short stories have variously been described as fierce, dark, humorous and descriptive. Currently he enjoys writing short stories with a speculative edge, and now is beginning his debut novel. He lives in Bristol, UK, with an amazing wife and two wonderful children he does not deserve.

His writing is coloured by his experiences as a ME sufferer, particle physicist at CERN, property developer, core driller, disability benefits claimant, Dalmatian breeder, traveller, and more besides. One thing has remained constant in his chaotic life, however: his love of Encona Hot Sauce.

So It Goes

A brave man killed a monster. He became a hero and was celebrated. He married a princess and eventually became a king. He had many children. Then he died.

An unlucky man was born poor. He made an unfortunate bargain and was cursed. He turned into a horrible monster, was shunned by society. Eventually a man came along and killed the unlucky man.

A unremarkable man lived an unremarkable life. He had good times. He had bad times. He died an unremarkable death.

A thoughtful man spent his entire life trying to make sense of it all. Then he died.

Jason And The Argonauts

Jason, hero of Thessaly, rightful heir to the throne of Iolcus, is a name synonymous with adventure. The quest for the golden fleece, brave Jason, standing tall at the stern of his ship, ready to do battle or challenge the gods if necessary.

Somehow, the most sensational part of Jason's story is the least remembered. Despite having wed Medea and fathering two boys, he courted the princess of Corinth as his bride. Understandably angered, Medea murdered the princess and her two sons. Jason was cursed for breaking his vows and died lonely and unhappy.

I'd say he got off easy.

Heart The Size Of A Car

I wake up and it’s almost dark. I hear boom…boom…boom. I think it’s the raccoons jumping across the roof on their way to look for food. Maybe it’s the wind, the porch swing hitting the house, fireworks for some forgotten holiday or the war we've been waiting for but when I pull back the curtain on the window in the door, each rectangle of glass is a piece of your thumping heart, the size of a car, its feathery periwinkle veins like map-rivers, red finger-branches steady, wrapping down around the lower chambers, stamping the glass with tree patterns, knocking. Asking.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Brook (she/her) is the author of Only Flying, a Pushcart-nominated collection of surreal poetry and flash fiction on paradox, rebellion, transformation, and enlightenment from Unsolicited Press. Her work has won contests and appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror, Soundings East, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and elsewhere. Two new collections, Exodus with Red Delicious and I Drink from an Ear: Real Ghazals, are forthcoming from Unsolicited Press in 2026 and 2027. She is a founding editor of Blue Planet Journal, the founder and facilitator of The Nearby Universe writers’ group, and a professor of creative writing at Pikes Peak State College.

House Delivery

Sarah paced the room. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

Josie gently touched Sarah’s shoulder and spoke reassuringly to her friend. “How could she not, you’re giving her a home and she’ll be going to a good school. She’ll make nice friends and be happy.”

“I hope. I’ll be a single mother without a husband; she may not adjust.”

“Stop. Everything will be fine. Let’s have that wine and we’ll watch a movie until she gets here.

They stood and the doorbell rang.

Sarah ran to answer it. “She’s here!”

When Sarah opened the door, it was the pizza delivery.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Stranger

There was a man who looked at her deep into her eyes. The gaze was strong. As strong as to peer through her soul. She saw him again and then again. Sometimes at the supermarket, then at the gym, and then at a night walking past by her. She was with another man, but their eyes locked. The guy noticed she was holding the hand of someone else and crossed by him. Their eyes met again. The girl found it pretty strange and in her innocence she told the guy that she often bumps into this stranger and wonders why? From Guest Contributor Preeti Singh

Preeti is a novice cine writer and translator. In her free time she loves to hum and strum her guitar. Also, she is a nature lover who loves birds, plants and the skies.

Late Night Mystery

I'm at that point in my life where I need to wake up at least once in the middle of the night. Stumbling through the dark to the bathroom, the street lamp cast a shadow across the table, revealing a yellow envelope.

With groggy eyes, I opened the missive to find a short note on a scrap of aged paper.

"I miss you."

It wasn't signed, but the script was familiar. There was no mistaking this had been written by Beverly, my wife.

Dropping the note, I searched frantically throughout the house. Beverly had died exactly one year ago tonight.