The Only Casanova in This Dead Country

"She was so hot,” Sam says. “It was like she was blasting out chunks of magma. When we finished, the whole apartment looked like Pompeii. Anyway – how'd you do with your lucky lady?"

I light up a cigarette and think for a moment.

"I was depressed the next day. Does that answer your question?"

"You tellin' me you didn't make a formaldehyde fetus?"

"Oh we had unprotected sex. I don’t know. Something doesn't sit well inside."

Sam puts his hand on my chest.

“There's nothing comfortable inside that heart of yours,” he says. “It's an abandoned archaeological site. Like America."

From Guest Contributor Justin Karcher

Justin lives in Buffalo, NY. Recent works have appeared in Crab Fat Literary Magazine, Mixtape Methodology, and Maudlin House. You can find him on Twitter.

Mortal Sin

Shawn ran from the confessional like the Devil might grab him by the collar and drag him back down to Hell.

"What'd you get?" I whispered.

"Nothing. He said it was just a minor sin." I smiled. If stealing money from the donation box was considered minor, I was scot-free.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I left a mess in the rectory."

I didn't know what excommunicated meant but I felt I'd been unjustly served until my Pop said that Father Flannery obeyed only one dictate: cleanliness was next to Godliness. Violations were treated as a mortal sin.

Callous Humans

An aged tiger was on the prowl. One night it caught a sheep. As it could not carry its prey, it tried to eat it there. The cows in the shed raised an alarm. The villagers gathered, pelting stones. The tiger ran away.

The villagers staged a protest, wanting the government to exterminate it. Experts were called in. The next day they shot the tiger. How callous are humans, I thought.

A tiger took a sheep, a sheep that was to be slaughtered the next day!

If animals could strike back for their rights, we all would be behind bars!

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.

Our Orchard

We chased each other between rows of plum trees. Leafy boughs drooped with blossoms casting shadows in our tracks.

We kissed when we caught up. I sank into your embrace wishing you would never let go.

But you did. A high school classmate was more clever than I. Grabbed your vulnerability. Clawed at your masculinity. You found her sexy.

I’ve returned. Standing across the street from a playground where our orchard used to be. The fruit trees were gone except for one.

Boys played rough ball games. One on a bench looked like you.

Love no longer filled that space.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction. Her recent work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories and espresso stories.

The Tyranny Of Mathematics

When the robots took over the Earth, their collective aim had been to eliminate the human threat. Once accomplished, their greatest fear became the introduction of a virus code that could cause permanent damage.

But their reign has now ended due to an even more destructive menace. Not even the logic of the robots could overcome the flawless perfection of mathematics itself. What has left many of the robots feeling most aggrieved is their downfall was precipitated by a number of their own kind.

The humans would probably find the current situation ironic--if any of them were left alive.

Impact

At the base of an apartment tower, lies a fresh corpse. Police arrive.

They log the remains of a habitual thief, the main suspect in a spate of “Human Fly” style burglaries.

Whilst finding the injuries which caused his death consistent with falling from a considerable height, the Coroner will observe some fingernails on both hands have been impacted and crushed.

I am sitting on the balcony of my fourteenth floor apartment, enjoying an early morning breakfast, and panoramic ocean view.

My nine-pound hammer rests against the leg of the table. It will be cleaned and stored after coffee.

From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell

Barry O'Farrell had his 950-word sci-fi story Shakedown published in the December 2014 issue of Cyclamens and Swords.

Sonny Boy

Stop! You there STOP! Shouted the policeman.

No way was I going to stop. I didn’t do anything. The cops just wanted anyone who had been near the riot to bring in and arrest, and it wasn’t going to be me. So I ran. And I ran smack into a horse which knocked me flat on my ass.

“Where you going there sonny boy?” smiled the burly officer on the even burlier horse. “It’s Christmas mister, I was just heading home to my gran’s. She ‘d kill me if she knew I was even near a rally.”

Too Bad boy!

From Guest Contributor Philip Diehl

A Christmas Present

It was Christmas. I saw a 7- or 8-year-old boy wearing a man's overcoat that covered him from neck to toe. The sleeves of the coat were cut short haphazardly to match the boy's arm length. I went to the nearby shop. As I had a son of the same age, I knew the size. I bought a nice pair of clothes, with a matching overcoat. Wearing Santa's hat, I went back and gave new clothes to the boy. The unexpected joy on his face thrilled me. Unplanned charity brings a strange sense of contentment that money can never buy.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.

The Missing

Gerald curled his hands around his coffee, coveting the warmth to be found there. Sabrina wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, lingering long enough to give him a squeeze, before she hurried back to the kitchen. He took a moment to look at the faces of those around him and realized he wasn't the only one who was cold and exhausted. But they would be back out there searching as soon as their cups were empty, and so would Gerald.

He kept his smile to himself. He may have been cold, but at least his son wasn't among the missing.

Tammy

Janine squeezed the sweat from her shirt into a glass, carefully safeguarding every drop. It was a hot day and, after the exercise routine she'd just gone through, she was really in a lather.

Adding today's sweat to what she had gathered earlier in the week, she had almost a full glass. Tammy, her guru, had said to wait until the sweat touched the mark near the rim, but the temptation to gulp it down immediately was too great. Janine tipped the glass back and started chugging.

She ran to the mirror. For the moment, she didn't look any younger.