List

The Poland that I once knew is gone. I haven’t been back since the war and now that it’s over, I won’t stay. Too many memories. I came here for a purpose. Eleanora left the bottle with the list buried in the courtyard.

The building reduced to rubble and smoke made me gag, but I waded through the debris to the back and went to the spot where she told me it’s hidden. I used my hands to dig, and there the bottle lay in the dirt with the list of names that would reunite Jewish children with their families.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Wanting Something Is Not The Same As Something Wanting

Henry examined the brush strokes under his glass loupe. Everything suggested that this never-before-seen-or-even-mentioned Vermeer was a fraud. Yet even the finest details appeared genuine, from the composition of the pigments to the physical deterioration of the canvas, and Henry was beginning to have his doubts. Confirming its authenticity could bring Henry tremendous fame and many new clients; but a later retraction would be humiliating and likely end his career. He almost wondered if he should wash his hands of the whole affair.

Eventually, Henry trusted his method. The work was authentic. Vemeer had indeed painted Four Beagles Playing Pinochle.

The Not-So-Secret Letter

“It’s of voluminous importance,” grinned Clark.

“Of epic gutsy proportions?” Sam winked.

They surrendered an envelope containing sensitive information to the school library’s reception desk.

Soon afterwards the original recipient of the letter returned, darting to the health reference shelf. Not there? He wiggled discreetly to the employee on duty.

He explained what he had lost. Classmates peered from vantage points between bookshelves as an envelope landed in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said, “Got to go!”

As he fled collective laughter erupted.

He held the letter closely to his heart—words from his girlfriend who commiserated with his unpredictable diarrhea.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Repetition

George, thanks to his frequent flier status, was able to skip the line and go directly to the review board. His personal attendant was by now on a first name basis with him and seemed genuinely happy to see him, despite the circumstances.

"I'm sure you'll get it right eventually, Mr. Smith."

The questions were mostly perfunctory and George was on his way back straightaway. He was fully determined this would be his last failure. While he'd been assured he had as many chances as necessary, after being so close so many times, he finally wanted to experience the afterlife.

The Tomb At Starocel

The silence around the Thracian stones was so intense that Jamie could hear his footfalls on the sandy soil. What rites had taken place up here, to cast their memories down the future so? Magic tingled in the very air, the landscape not brooding, but waiting to be awakened once more, holding its breath in expectation of life restored. Climbing carved stone steps scaled to something slightly more than human, he approached the dark profundity of the beehive tomb lurking in the heart of the hill. Seeking to understand, he wondered if he could be more than just another tourist.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Another Boring Dinner

It was another Wednesday night, and…

“What's for dinner, Rayette?”

“We’re going to have Escargot a la Bourguignonne, followed by Confit de Canard, finished off with double-baked cheese soufflé, Ralph.”

“Oh, no… Not Escargot a la Bourguignonne, Confit de Canard, and soufflé again.”

“Come on, Ralph… Don't complain.”

“But couldn't we have something different for a change?… Maybe chicken fingers?”

“You know I don't know how to cook chicken fingers.”

“I could try, Rayette.”

“No, Ralph… The last time you tried chicken fingers, they tasted like Coq au Vin, and you know how much I dislike Coq au Vin.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Evening Walk

I still smelled the floral scent of my wife’s perfume and dreamed of her laughing, a soft cackle that used to bring a smile to my face. Her beautiful complexion used to turn heads wherever we went. She was flawless.

One evening the air was perfect for a walk, or so we thought.

That was the evening a man wearing a mask robbed my wallet. When my wife called him a coward, he shot her in the stomach. When she laid on the ground, my hand cupping her head, she whispered, “I love you.”

My world was never the same.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Silver Flower

The bee insistently buzzed around the silver flower decoration, flitting in and out of the petals. An anthropocentric reading of the situation would suggest the insect was growing increasingly frustrated at the futility of its sugar gathering.

Something in its infrared vision must have found the flowers appealing, even if to human eyes no color or pattern was visible other than shiny metallic chrome. How ironic that something so valuable to our way of thinking was nothing but a torture for the poor bee, who would have preferred the nectar of a dandelion.

I suppose there's no accounting for taste.

Adventure Prone

“Careful!” warned the attendant. “Not as cute as popular opinion has you believe.”

The visitor wheeled out of the gas-station. Blue skies and folksy music accompanied him into the countryside.

New country, new job, new adventure… With a friend’s help he restored his confidence following a wrenching divorce.

The visitor stopped abruptly. A mob of kangaroos blocked his lane.

“Be patient,” he told himself, waiting for the animals to move away on their own. When they did he stroked the dog on the passenger seat beside him.

Splashes of color painted the sky as they rode into the setting sun.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Trait

This is a strange scenario where she turned around to see if the guy that she dated was still around or not. He was there, but she lost interest. Not fully, but with the arrival of a past partner things changed. She was into him but yeah now someone else was there to share the attention too. She was not sure if she should move forward with the one she dated. A date with the same mate? Is too fate? Or, too late? Next, is a date with either of the soulmate? Or, let fate be the cupid's old trait.

From Guest Contributor Preeti Singh

Preeti is a Freelance French Interpreter, author, newbie script writer, and likes to humm and strum her guitar.